


Invoke

by AlatusNora



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angelic True Forms, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Aziraphale's guardian demon, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Blood, But they love each other anyway, Clever Aziraphale, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon Summoning, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Getting Together, Heavy on the angst, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I imply like crazy, Idiots in Love, Implied Violence, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Occult Magic, Protective Crowley, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Suspense, Whumptober 2019, Wingfic, Wings, and I'm so sorry Aziraphale, aziraphale is oblivious, oh and, throw drama around like confetti
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-01-15 21:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21259868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlatusNora/pseuds/AlatusNora
Summary: “Angel, can you stand?” Aziraphale blinked, but the world didn’t want to stick together. “Aziraphale, can you stand?”He frowned. Confused. “Cro– Crowley?”The demon shushed him with a hiss. “We need to go.”Go? He hesitated, wavering. “Where?” He didn’t want to move.But Crowley was insistent, tugging at his arm. “We’re going to get you home, promise.”————————In which Aziraphale is kidnapped, and Crowley mounts a one demon rescue mission to see his angel safely home.





	1. Rescue

The first thing he became aware of was someone swearing. “For Satan’s sake, angel, come on!”

He felt heavy. Distant. Like he was lying at the bottom of a river, and simply watching the world roll by.

“Aziraphale!” A cool hand touched his shoulder, his _wing_– He twitched, and the familiar voice latched onto the movement like a life line. “Angel! Come on, wake up already–”

His eyes opened. Damp stone walls. A cell. Someone. They were looming over him. He jerked, pain blooming in his body, as a whine built in his throat.

“Shhh. Angel, it’s just me. Yeah? Can you stand?” The world didn’t want to stick together. “Aziraphale, can you stand?”

That… voice. He knew him. “Cro– Crowley?”

The demon shushed him with a hiss.

Was he dreaming? His eyelids felt heavy. Angels weren’t supposed to be able to dream, and yet–

Crowley tugged at his arm. “We need to go.”

“Where?” He didn’t want to move. But Crowley was insistent, not leaving him be, and he was so tired. Another persistent tug and he gave in, struggling to sit up. Pain flared and he listed, crashing into the other’s shoulder. Crowley didn’t seem to mind. He wrapped an arm around him, telling him to just breathe.

Funny, angels didn’t need to breathe.

“We’re going to get you home, promise.” Crowley’s voice was tight, unhappy.

His head was spinning so much. “Home…?”

But Crowley was already moving. “Come on, up. We’ve got a lunch date.”

“L–lunch?” he stuttered. _Date? _

“Yeah, all your favourites.” Crowley shifted, and with a grunt, began to pull him up and up. “Crepes and those stuffed noodle things and– and–”

“Devil food cake.” Everything was fading, like he was sinking. Down and down. It was all… getting further and further away. Nothing was attached.

“Hey, hey, hey!” A hand patted his cheek, the fingers startling cold. He whined, trying to pull away. “No passing out. You got that, angel?”

Everything hurt. “I don’t like this dream.”

“You and me both.” He didn’t think he was supposed to hear that. Crowley hissed out a breath. “Right, right, uh, we’re going to have lunch, all your favourites, remember? Crepes, noodles, devil food cake, and what else?”

He frowned, blinking slowly. “Sushi.”

“Sushi’s good. From that place you were talking about, right? Tell you what, we should go right now. Yeah. Walk all the way there. Think you can manage that, angel?”

Crowley took a step, coaxing him to follow. His legs felt like jelly. The ground was going to swallow him whole. He stumbled. Crowley hauled him up, but not before he caught sight of the blood stained floor beneath them. His eyes fixed on the nearest puddle. That… that wasn’t human blood. The colour was far too vivid.

He stopped breathing. Was that–

“Aziraphale, angel, you can’t do this right now. We have to get out.” He felt like a marionette, his movements jerky and foreign, as he looked at Crowley. Desperate serpent eyes stared back at him from a face that was far too tense. “Please, work with me.”

Terror rattled within him, a distant scream in his ears. Crowley’s hold on him was painfully tight. His right shoulder and back twitched, shuddering. He stared at the demon for a long desperate moment. He wanted to leave. Crowley wanted that too. He opened his mouth, “Ice cream.” The words weren’t audible, simply a movement from his lips. His chest remained still, dead air in his human body’s lungs.

Crowley looked relieved. “Of course angel, as much as you want.” But his tone was hushed, his posture still tense. “We just have to get out of here, first, yeah?”

He shut his eyes and gave a slow uneven nod. He didn’t dare open them again as they started to move, trusting Crowley to guide him. It was cowardly, but he didn’t want to see.

There was a snap of fingers, before Crowley cursed. He felt demonic power boil up within the demon, pulsing like a human heart. It made his teeth ache. Another louder snap of fingers, and there was the distinct clunk of a lock giving out, followed by the harsh crack-buzz of wards breaking. The door. The one to his cell. The one that had been keeping him trapped here.

He felt dizzy.

Crowley was practically carrying him as they left the cell. He could hear the echoes of their movement as they entered the corridor beyond. That was, until Crowley hissed at the sound, and their movement became blessedly silent. He tried to help, but Crowley moved with an urgency he couldn’t match.

His legs _hurt_ and it was taking all he had to remain silent. Crowley continued to whisper encouragement, along with distractions, jumping from food to what type of wine they should have. Comparing the fruity wine that they’d currently been favouring to wines of the past. Adding funny little stories of their old adventures, like that one time they’d gotten rip-roaring drunk at a little inn in the twelfth century– The story came to an abrupt stop mid word as Crowley swore.

He didn’t have a chance to ask, before Crowley abruptly propelled them to the side, dragging him when his legs gave out. He felt the press of a tight space, before cold stone struck his right shoulder. He went rigid.

Vaguely he felt Crowley reel him in, arms wrapping around him. He trembled, soundless, as the echoes of footsteps came toward them. Behind him, Crowley tensed, coiled around him like a viper ready to strike. Oh. That probably wasn’t all that far from the truth.

But Crowley couldn’t take this place alone.

His hands felt stiff. Fingers shaking, he brought his thumb and middle together, poised, ready to snap a miracle into being. He could feel Crowley do the same, though one of the demon’s hands remained pressed tight to his chest. The echoing steps grew louder, and with it came voices. Human voices.

“Think that abomination will ready to cooperate yet?”

A second human scoffed. “After what Dante said? Doubtful. Orders are to leave it to rot for a week, then we’ll see.”

They were talking about him.

A roar built in his ears, drowning out all other thoughts.

A soft snap left his fingers. A wish to just have them _gone_. But the miracle bounced, twisting around them like boulders in a fast running river. The energy splashed back at him, and he was drowning. Pulled down, down, down, and everything flowed away.

* * *

A book. A rare tome dangled like a lure, and he’d fallen so easily for the lie. Like a soft fool.

A trap he didn’t see until it snapped shut around him. Capturing his limbs, his _wings_.

But Crowley would save him.

Crowley would get him out.

All he had to do was… was…

* * *

“Angel, _angel_.”

There was dried blood smeared on his fingertips. They twitched as he stared at them. His hand was still there, still attached.

“For something’s sake!” Crowley sounded close to panic.

He didn’t have the energy to lift his head. So he shifted against Crowley’s shoulder, changing his angle just enough to be able to see the other’s chin.

The demon sighed. “That was incredibly stupid, angel.”

They were on the floor again. Tucked in a little alcove that was barely big enough for the two of them to fit. Hidden out of sight behind a statue of a robed human. He stared at it, something tugging at his memory.

“Hey.” Crowley patted his cheek, forcing him to blink. “You with me?”

He nodded, a small tired gesture. The hallway had gone silent again. The humans gone. But not through any miracle of his own.

“Don’t worry about them. They’ll be distracted for a good long while.”

He looked at Crowley again. The question on his face, but Crowley ignored it.

The demon’s lips were pinched into a grim line. “Where are you injured?”

Injured? He tensed, eyes going once more the stone figure. And then he realized. The statue was a saint. He bolted up, panic roaring in his head. Colours flashed before his eyes as the world began to spin. Too fast.

“Oi!” Crowley yanked him down. He squirmed, trying to get up. “Will you stop that!”

“The ground.” He felt breathless, winded. He clawed at Crowley’s arm, only to have the demon pin both of them to his chest. “Crowley the _ground_.”

“Calm down,” the demon hissed. He went still, hands still tangled in the soft black material of Crowley’s jacket. He felt the long breath the other let out against his back. “Right. Now, do you want to expand on that thought without the panic this time?”

His hands tightened on the other’s arm. “Con..se…crated.” He could barely get his voice around the word, energy already ebbing away.

Crowley let out a long suffering sigh. “Yeah, angel, I know.” This time, he understood the tightness in the demon’s voice. “It’s not going to kill me. Promise.”

A pitiful noise of protest built in his throat.

“We’re getting out of here, remember? Soon as we can.”

He shut his eyes, giving one slow nod.

“Good. Now, tell me where you’re injured, angel.”

He tensed, shoulder burning all the way up, onto the ethereal plain, to the tip of his right wing. “No.”

“Aziraphale–”

“NO.”

There was a long, heavy silence. He could almost hear Crowley grinding his teeth. “Answer me truthfully. Will it keep until we get out of here?”

He hesitated, voice horse. “Yes.”

“Right. Up then.” But for all the unhappiness in Crowley’s voice, his hands were gentle, drawing him to his feet.

He struggled to get his legs under him, the change in heights sending his head spinning all anew. Crowley paused, giving him a moment, before they started squeezing their way back out from behind the statue.

“Let’s get out of here.”

He couldn’t agree more.

In the end, they didn’t find an exit. Crowley simply threw a hand out, blowing a hole in the wall. He tried to scold him, but the words all tangled in his mouth. The world was going dark around the edges. Reduced to snap shots with nothing in-between.

Bright sunlight as they finally stepped out of the building.

A rusty car sitting in the tall grass. Not the Bentley, but a welcome sight, and the reason Crowley had decided to make an exit.

The screech of a rusted hinge. Gentle hands lowering him down onto a dusty seat.

Cool glass resting against his forehead.

The bang of the other door. Crowley.

The roar of the engine and they started moving.

He blinked, eyelids heavy, regarding Crowley who was driving with a white knuckled grip. “Crow…?”

“I’m fine.” There was sweat building up on the demon’s brow.

He tried to press the point, but the words slipped away, leaving him to tumble alone into the depths.

* * *

“Come now, one single feather can’t be worth all this, can it?”

“No. I– I won’t.”

“Have it your way then.”

* * *

Silence pressed against his ears. Where…?

A hand touched his right shoulder.

He gasped. Flailing, clawing, he had to–

“Aziraphale! Angel, easy, you’re okay.”

He stilled, breath hitching. “Cro–Crowley?”

Crowley drew his hands up, not touching, letting them hang in the air. “Yeah, angel, it’s me. You’re safe. Remember?”

He nodded far too many times, sinking boneless into the musty seat. They were still in the rusty car. Night had fallen. He brushed shaking hands against his face. “We escaped.”

“That’s right. Nice clean getaway.”

“Where are we?” He peered out the windshield, taking in the small dark structure that sat ahead of them. The house looked half collapsed.

“Eh, somewhere in Norway.” Crowley gestured toward the thick woods trying to overtake what, on closer inspection, appeared to be a stone cottage. “Looked like a decent place to stop.”

He gave Crowley a long dubious look.

“Oh don’t be like that. It’s all the things we could possible want. Remote. Abandoned.”

“Derelict.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

He sniffed. “I have standards.”

“Yes, well, you and your standards, are just going to have to put up with it.” There was a heavy pause. He turned to find Crowley openly studying him, and was startled to see the glowing eyes staring back at him. Crowley’s sunglasses were missing. He looked about, but there was no sign of them. Where–? Crowley cleared his throat. “Right. Think you can make it over there?”

He drew a breath, measuring the distance to the derelict cottage with increasing unease. “Course. Tickety boo.”

Crowley made a face, but didn’t call him on the lie. “Right. Just let me–” The car door opened with a painful screech of rust. Crowley clambered out, standing, only to have his legs collapse. He caught hold of the door, leaning over it, gasping for breath.

“Crowley!” Panicked, he reached across the seats uselessly, wanting to help the demon in some manner.

“That sssssmarts.” Without letting go of the door, Crowley shook out first one foot and then the other. “How the bloody hell do humans stand these things?”

He blinked, trying to follow the demon’s train of thought. “Legs?”

“Feet.” The word rolled off Crowley’s tongue with a disgusted flick. “Bloody design flaw.”

Guilt stabbed him in the heart. The consecrated ground. Crowley’s feet were burnt. “Oh– my dear, I’m sorry.”

“I’m pretty sure you weren’t asked for design input–”

“This is my fault.” He plucked at the fraying seat cover.

“Oh, no no-no-no.” Crowley clambered back onto the driver seat, expression fierce. “You are _not_ blaming yourself for any of this.”

“Isn’t it? I–” The memory was hazy. Distant. Fingers shaking, dipped in his own blood, as he tried to draw–

“Hey.” Crowley had shifted closer, hands resting on either side of his frozen fingers. He’d sunk his nails right down into the seat’s material. “None of that too.”

He blinked, gasping. “I summoned you.” He could feel it. The warm pull of the runes, hidden on the inside of his coat, drawn in his own blood. The circle rested almost level with his heart.

Crowley nodded. “Darn clever of you too. Saved me the trouble of tracking down the right bastards and–”

“Don’t!” His hands jumped before he could even think, latching onto Crowley’s arms. The demon looked just as startled. They stared at each other. “Don’t– don’t stir up trouble. _Please_. Just leave this be.”

His hands were trembling. Crowley moved with a gentle slowness, carefully untangling his fingers, before covering them with his own. “Angel, they targeted you specifically. I don’t think they’re the types for ‘leaving things alone’.”

Tears welled up in his eyes. He knew that. Of course he _knew_ that. But to hear the words… Crowley was right. That was the whole problem wasn’t it. Not being left alone. A sob was building in his throat.

“Hey, we’ll worry about it later. Alright?”

He nodded his head, once, twice, too many times again.

“Good. Let’s get you inside.” Crowley scrambled out of the car, coming around to his side. The screech of the door opening was no less painful. “Ready?”

He turned, wincing. The whole of his human container ached. He took Crowley’s offered hands, and together they hauled him up out of the car. Pain spiked through his body, roaring in his ears. He tilted forward. Crowley swore, catching him, but not before he accidentally struck the demon’s foot. Crowley went ridged.

His vision was fading out again, like he was sinking into the depths of the ocean. His mind shrieked. He’d hurt Crowley. He’d–

There was a distinct pop and suddenly, his vision cleared.

He blinked, or tried to, but the gesture was slow to follow. As were his hands, flowing up and up as slow as fallen leaves in a lazy brook, bracing Crowley’s arms. “Crowley?” His own voice was distant, like it wasn’t even connected to his mouth. “Are you alright?”

“Peachy,” said Crowley, voice tight. There was a frown on his face when he looked up. “Angel, what did you do?”

There was a long pause, before his mouth answered with a confused, “Do?”

Worry was edging into Crowley’s expression as he reached out to him, and touched his cheek. Oh.

Aziraphale felt nothing.

No pain. Not even the pressure of Crowley’s cool fingers against his skin. Oh no no no. “I’ve…” It was painful how long it took for the sound to escape him. To hear his own panic as if it were just an echo in a cave. “I’ve seem to have disconnected from my cooperation somewhat.”

Crowley’s worry immediately shifted to panic. “Dammit Aziraphale you said it could hold! Bloody– bloody _somewhere_!”

Crowley hooked his arms around him, hauled him up, and began bodily carry him to the half collapsed cottage. It made him feel like a sack of potatoes. But his own gnawing fear was worse.

“Bloody, bloody, _bloody,_” Crowley chanted under his breath the whole way inside.

They bypassed the cottage’s main area, heading for the next room, the only one still fully intact and sheltered from the elements. The room was empty save for a single chair and a bed within. Neither had dust or mold, and likely were entirely conjured by the demon’s power. Aziraphale found himself deposited on the bed, as Crowley stepped back, and waited for him to sit himself up.

He made sure to give a loud indigent huff as he eventually righted himself into a sitting position. “Crowley I’m not in danger–”

“Ssshut it!”

“-of discorporating,” his voice continued like Crowley hadn’t said anything at all, “so calm down, please.”

Crowley dragged the chair over, movements aggressive as he sat down, facing him. The demon’s eyes were fierce as he leaned in. “We’re going to bloody well fix this. So enough playing around. Tell me where!”

Silence stretched. He didn’t say anything.

“Aziraphale!”

He would have given anything to claw back the wince that eventually stole over him.

Crowley went very, very still. “Angel, you’re scaring me.”

That was the last thing he’d intended. He didn’t– he _didn’t_– This wasn’t worth it. Sighing deeply, and with great reluctance, he spread his wings.

Crowley hissed, abandoning his chair, hand out and reaching toward the right. Aziraphale didn’t look. “_Those–_” The rest of the words were swallowed.

He said nothing, concentrating on the old floorboards, mapping the grain with his eyes.

There was a snap of fingers, before an overstuffed first aid box dropped onto the bed beside him. Crowley shoved his hand inside, grabbing a large pad of gauze. “You’re still bleeding.” Crowley disappeared out his line of sight again, and then he felt something press hard against the tender underside of his wing.

It hurt. He thrashed, panicked, wings beating at the air. And then at the body underneath them.

Distantly he heard Crowley swear. But that wasn’t- Why was he– “Aziraphale!” Crowley appeared back in his line of sight, before the demon reached out, touching the base of Aziraphale’s wing, fingers light and gentle. “Hey, hey it’s okay.”

He gasped, the sound escaping him even as Crowley continued a litany of comforting words. Aziraphale went still, wings settling, and he felt Crowley’s hand rest more firmly against his wing. “I can feel that.”

Crowley let out a relieved sigh. “Well, there’s some good news, I suppose. Though, I guess that makes sense, it _is_ your wings. Not technically part of your corporeal form.”

Oh. Of course. He’d had a human body for so long now, far longer than he’d been without one, that all of it… felt like him. He didn’t draw lines anymore saying that only the angelic bits were him and that the rest was a thing he only wore on occasion. He’d grown attached.

And why shouldn’t it all feel like… him?

Crowley leaned in, yellow eyes worried. “Angel?”

Had he drifted off into thought without realizing? He focused in on Crowley. “Yes?” Even as he continued to sit there, body too slow to bother trying to move anything.

After about a minute, Crowley drew himself up. “Think you can stay still and let me work on your wing?”

Trepidation flickered through him. Could he?

Crowley’s hand was still resting gently on the base of his wing, a comforting weight. “Only if you’re–”

“Alright.” His voice sounded thinner than he wanted it too.

“Right.” Crowley gave a single nod. “I’ve still got to stop the bleeding.” He didn’t break contact with Aziraphale’s wing, making him shiver as the demon’s finger brushed over his feathers. Then Crowley went still. “Ready for this?”

Crowley went silent, waiting for his answer.

It was agonizing how long his voice took to finally reach his mouth. “Ready.” The bandage pressed down, electing a hiss that eventually escaped out of his lips. His wings twitched, before he forced them still again.

“You’re doing great, angel.”

Was he? He didn’t think so. Crowley was trying to be so careful. But there was a bubble of panic building up inside him. He didn’t want to think about it. Not about what happened. Not about the state his wing. None of it. He didn’t want to see. What he could feel was bad enough. The wrongness of it all. The empty spaces where feathers should be. Was this what humans went through when they lost things like teeth?

He shuddered to think about it and that only made the panic worse. Fear yanked at him like an undercurrent, buffeting him around, trying to drown him.

“You’re quiet.” Crowley’s observation was soft as he reached into the first aid box again.

The pause was agonizing, but there was nothing Aziraphale could do to change it. “Being like this isn’t exactly conductive to holding a conversation.”

“Talk to me.”

Aziraphale found himself hesitating, before he simply let the question fall out of his mouth. “About what?”

“Anything you like, angel.” Crowley drew back, one hand still resting against Aziraphale’s feathers, even as he made eye contact. Crowley waited with an infinite patience that demons were not supposed to have.

There were no words for how grateful Aziraphale felt toward Crowley in that moment. The demon listened when he finally spoke, and that, right there, was one of the reasons he… “Were you serious? About… about having lunch?”

Crowley’s eyes went soft. “Course angel. I took notes.” He shifted back toward his wing, pressing a pad of gauze on before he began to use a wrap to secure everything in place. “All your favourites and anything else you want.”

Anything? A sensation rushed through him almost like, in the chest he couldn’t feel, his heart had skipped a beat. There were suddenly so many things he wanted to say, a rush of warm emotions he didn’t trust himself to put into words. Crowley was so, so good. How did he deserve this?

His mouth must have fluttered on some of those unspoken thoughts, because Crowley paused, giving him an encouraging smile. “Take your time, angel.”

Aziraphale wished he was more daring. He knew what word Crowley had oh so casually nestled behind the word lunch. But to actually say it… even after everything they’d been through, including surviving the failed apocalypse, Aziraphale didn’t think he’d ever have that kind of courage. He wondered briefly, if he ever would.

When he finally settled on something to say, it was only a pathetic, “I’ll have to choose out a menu.”

Crowley still smiled. “Well, you’re off to a good start.” The grin almost became devilish, before Crowley shifted focus back to what he was doing.

Aziraphale still didn’t dare look, but it couldn’t stop him from wondering, from worrying. He hesitated a long moment, before he finally let the question coil out of his being and escape from his lips, “How bad is it?”

A low hiss of anger escaped Crowley. “Bastards stole a lot of your feathers, angel.” There was another slight pause, and this time Crowley stayed out of his line of sight. “I’ve got the bleeding under control now. It’ll take time, but I don’t see why it won’t heal up just fine.”

Aziraphale had expected the anger. Crowley no doubt realized a blood feather had been pulled, but was being kind enough not to mention it. This whole situation was bad enough as it was. Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to be back home, and never talk about it again. Crowley, however, had made it very clear where the humans who did this stood with him. The demon was far too caring and protective, and Aziraphale would not allow him to seek his revenge blind.

So his mouth moved, producing the words that would damn all those involved. “I don’t– I don’t think they were interested in me, specifically, despite how they went about baiting the trap. They certainly weren’t interest in talking. Not really. And they–” He floundered on the words, on the admission. Crowley had shifted back in front of him, and there was a frozen moment where they stared at each other. Crowley’s yellow pupils had bleed out into the rest of his eyes, a testament to how upset he was. “They only wanted my feathers.”

Crowley went still. He looked angry, but he didn’t get up, he didn’t leave. Instead, he simply reached out and began rubbing arms Aziraphale couldn’t feel. “We’ll fix this.” It was a promise. A vow. But it only made everything worse.

A fine tremor ran through his body. Followed by another, and then another, until he was shivering like a tree in a hurricane. Tears welled unbidden in his eyes as his voice came out sounding watery and pathetic, “How?”

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you, angel.” Crowley snapped a fuzzy blanket into existence, wrapping it around his shoulders. He couldn’t feel it at all, not until Crowley quite purposefully wrapped the excess material over the base of his wings. A soft gasp escaped him. It was so soft and warm.

Crowley drew back again, studying his face. “Better?”

Not trusting his voice to speak, he let his head give a single nod.

“Good.” Crowley sat back down on the chair in front of him. “I’m hoping if we heal your body, it’ll also fix… this.” He waved vaguely toward Aziraphale.

The hesitant expression on his face said otherwise, and Aziraphale didn’t like it. “But?”

Crowley winced. “You know how our powers are. Your corporation’s already kicked in a ‘safety’ feature. What if it decides I’m attacking and just ejects you entirely?”

That would be bad. Aziraphale didn’t want to think about what Heaven would do to him if he ended up back Upstairs. The idea scared him far then he wanted to admit.

Crowley shifted the chair closer, voice careful. “Angel?”

Aziraphale stared down at his bruised and bloody hands, studying nails that were now chipped and cracked. He saw Crowley reach out, taking his hands in his own. But he couldn’t feel it, not the way Crowley squeezed the hands, not the feel of his cool skin, nothing, and that was enough to make up Aziraphale’s mind. “Crowley, dear, I want to heal my corpus.”

Crowley made a noise in his throat. “Only you would refer to yourself as a body of text.”

Aziraphale was pleased little sound.

Crowley huffed, before he grew somber. He stared at him, gaze searching, and with a lurch Aziraphale realized the demon was hesitating. “I’m serious, Aziraphale, this might discorporate you.”

But his mind was made up.

“Do it.”

Crowley sucked in a breath. “Right. I’ll– I’ll just–” his voice trailed out.

Aziraphale did his best to give Crowley’s hands a gentle squeeze. “I trust you, Crowley.”

“I’ll be as careful as I can, angel, I swear it.” Crowley’s voice was thick, and Aziraphale pretended not to notice the rapid blink of his eyes. “But, even then, if we do succeed, this is still going to knock you sideways.”

Crowley hadn’t let go of his hands, and even without being able to feel it, Aziraphale tried to draw strength from that. “I’m prepared.”

“Right. Hold on.” Aziraphale felt the flutter of demonic power before it rose up, thick and choking in the air. It was uncomfortably warm, but Aziraphale wasn’t afraid. They’d been here before, healing the other’s wounds, giving the other shelter where needed. That was part of their Arrangement, after all. That was what they always did for each other.

He didn’t feel Crowley’s power make contact with his skin, but rather he felt the undertow of it. The whole thing felt like watching a wave from beneath the surface of the ocean, seeing it roll past, the weight of it brushing over him, but not fully pushing at his being. He floundered, until one gentle hook tugged at him and then his ears popped, as he came back above the surface. Everything hurt.

He sucked in a breath, but the pain abruptly vanished. Brushed out of existence with a demonic miracle. It left his limbs feeling stiff, like his muscles hadn’t moved in days, and with it came a weariness that went down to his very core. Oh. He rather felt like a nap right now. He tilted sideways, before a familiar pair of arms snaked around him. Hands shifted him about, helping him settle on the bed. “Rest angel, I’ve got you.”

He tried to say something, but Crowley just hushed him, as slow careful fingers brushed against his wing just where it connected with his back. “Sleep well, angel. You’re safe now. Promise.”

Even with that promise, Aziraphale still reached out, catching hold of Crowley’s sleeve. “Don’t… go…”

There was a long pause, before he heard Crowley settle in with a sigh. “Can’t leave, angel, you summoned me, remember? You’re stuck with me for now.” There something in those words, something under the light tone, but Aziraphale was too tired.

And so, with a quiet sigh, he let himself sink, because he trusted Crowley and with the promise that he would stay, there really was nothing holding him back from falling back into blissful sleep.

* * *

Crowley paced the room, ignoring the twinge of pain from his burnt feet. They could continue to suffer. He was agitated. Frustrated.

Aziraphale had been resting for several hours now and Crowley felt like he was going to explode. This situation had far too many questions, even for his liking. The two of them had gotten into the habit of informing the other if they were going out of town and when they would be back. That little bit of safety was the only reason Crowley even knew things had gone pear-shaped.

He’d been waiting at the bookshop, only Aziraphale had never returned from his expedition of rare book hunting. Crowley had started hunting for leads, only to find out he’d been looking in the wrong bloody country.

Norway. They’d taken Aziraphale to bloody Norway of all places!

A sound of frustration escaped Crowley.

On the bed, Aziraphale twitched, murmuring something.

The demon went still, waiting, but the angel continued to sleep on. Crowley blew out a breath. He needed air. He slipped out of the one still standing room of the cottage.

The summoning spell tingled against his skin, an annoying presence not unlike a heavy dog leash attaching him to Aziraphale. Right now, he probably couldn’t even make it to the rusted car he’d driven here. Not that he could really complain about the spell craftsmanship. Hell, the fact he had any free mobility and wasn’t stuck to the angel’s jacket was a pleasant surprise. Aziraphale had always been clever. It was one of things Crowley loved about him.

But Crowley was aware, that right now, he needed every inch of space that he could get. He paced the edge of the stone cottage, drawing slow, slow deep breaths. If he thought about this situation in any more depth he was going to– well, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He was just certain it wouldn’t be pretty.

Crowley grit his teeth. He stared up at the inky black sky, tracing the familiar constellations with his eyes. All the ones he’d help create. His thoughts were still dark though. He should have done far more than just set fire to that blasted monastery they’d escaped from.

He sighed, dropping against the cold wall, brooding, until the creaking of old floorboards made him turn his head. “Angel?” He could feel the summoning magic prickle against his being, slackening as the other drew closer. He pushed off the wall. “What are you doing up–”

Empty, empty eyes stared back at him.

Crowley froze.

Aziraphale was not present. The angel’s hand came down in a sharp gesture.

Every hair rose on the back of Crowley’s neck and he jumped from his spot, not a second before it exploded into wood splinters. It sizzled, smelling of ozone and divine power. A smiting.

Terror gripped him. “Angel!”

Aziraphale’s hand moved, tracking toward him like a puppet on a string.

Crowley launched himself to the side, and kept rolling as the ground cracked, exploding on his heels. He scrambled to his aching feet, snarling, “Oh no you don’t!” and shot straight into Aziraphale’s personal space, slamming his hand into the angel’s chest. For one disorienting moment the layers of reality peeled away, and what he found horrified him.

A terrible wail resonated through the whole plane, digging painfully into Crowley’s essence.

He cringed, but could not look away. Aziraphale’s true form towered before him, his natural light dimmer then it should be. His angel was fighting, struggling against something that had twisted itself around his many limbs, strangling his wings. It reeked of magic, of imposed human will, as it leeched power away from the angel.

Crowley cried out Aziraphale’s name, and the effect was instantaneous.

That thing– the spell that was wound around and around Aziraphale like a leach– reacted. With a burst of the angel’s power, it shot out like a bit of stretched bubblegum, firing itself straight at him.

Crowley could only feel panic as he felt the full might of Aziraphale’s power behind it. He wouldn’t be able to flee fast enough.

He cringed, but, like always, Aziraphale wasn’t giving up without a fight.

With a single motion, the angel struck the spell, knocking it off course. It whistled past Crowley like a missile, path sizzling in the air, leaving the tang of holy power in its wake. Crowley cringed more, feeling like he was standing too close to a blazing star.

He had to get Aziraphale free. He reached out. The spell’s hold on the angel was so tight. How would he even–

Aziraphale reached back for him, and for one brief moment, they touched.

The resulting explosion from their respective powers reacting, sent Crowley rocketing backwards. The layers of reality snapped back into place like a rubber band as he saw dirt and sky tumble over each other. Then he crashed into an invisible barrier. _The edge of the summoning spell,_ he thought vaguely as he slumped down into the wild grass, parts of his clothing still smoking.

He lay there, dazed. A set of three runes were running around and around in his mind, seared there like one of Hell’s orders.

Aziraphale. Aziraphale had given him a solution.

He had to get up.

His fingers twitched, digging into the dirt. He mentally yelled at his blasted body to move faster. If that leech like spell moved Aziraphale first, he was a sitting duck.

Sucking in a breath, Crowley struggled to get his limbs under him again. His angel needed him, expected his help, and he _needed to get up_. Gritting his teeth, he forced his body to stand. Before him, the ground crackled and smoked. It hadn’t faired any better than him from the clash of demonic and angelic power.

He coughed, and just on the other side of the now sizeable crater, in the field between them, a familiar form was picking itself up with little care. Crowley got his limbs in order, and charged. The angel’s hand came up, trying to track him, readying another smiting.

Crowley dove to the side, shifting forms as his shoulder hit the ground. With a hiss, he shrank his snake form down to the size of a garden snake, before taking off like a shot through the tall winding grass. The air cracked twice, once behind him and then further away to his right.

He slithered in a wide arc, careful not to use a straight line, until he was behind Aziraphale’s body. He paused, creeping into the right position, before he lunged. Shifting back midair, he wrapped boney limbs around Aziraphale’s arms, and pinned them to the angel’s sides. With one elbow hooked around the other’s neck, Crowley pricked his thumb with a fang. Aziraphale’s body tried to throw him off, but Crowley clung on, struggling to spell out the three runes on the back of the angel’s neck.

The air was crackling around him, and every instinct screamed at Crowley to run for it. Logic had never won when it came his angel though and he refused to let it win now.

With a cry, he completed the last rune, and with it, there was a rush of something being sucked away. The crackling building in the air went out like a candle. There was a silent beat, before Aziraphale collapsed boneless to the ground, sending Crowley tumbling away into the grass.

Crowley coughed, body aching. But his worry was a far stronger driving force. He scrambled to pick himself out of the dirt, “Angel!” He turned, checking on the other, only to have his breath catch.

Aziraphale was still face down in the dirt, body utterly still. Oh god, was he even breathing?

“Angel?” Crowley dragged himself to the other’s side, heart pounding. He reached out a shaking hand, and that was when he realized. His breath caught. His mind screeched, trying to back away with denial. “No, no no.” He couldn’t do this again.

Aziraphale’s presence had utterly vanished from his senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * squeaks in at the last minute * Did I make it time for October? 
> 
> I planned on this being a one shot but wasn't able to get the latter half done in time. Anyway, I figured this was enough drama for one entry anyway. Poor Aziraphale, I really did put him through the ringer this time. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed Chapter 1! Thank you for reading.


	2. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Rises from the dead * I live!!

Floating… He felt weightless… lost…

Like he was drowning… tumbling away… disappearing…

Adrift in a vast void… with only one fervent wish…

He wanted _Crowley_…

“Aziraphale!”

His awareness stirred, shifted… where…?

“Oh God, please don’t do this.”

Cool fingers brushed his face. Startling. He gasped, and then sucked in a breath. Air went down his throat, filling his chest, drawing attention the steady beat, beat, beat of the heart that resided within his squashy human container. He could feel it. Still feel the corporation Adam had ever so kindly restored for him.

That meant he was still here.

That… he was still attached. His human body was still there, still connected with… the rest of him. What there was.

The hand brushed against his cheek before going still, distracting him. That was Crowley’s hand. “Angel?” The sweet, familiar voice of his dear kind demon was comforting, even if… even if he couldn’t sense any emotions behind the words. Not one trace of the– the affection that should be there. It was flat and the realization was terrifying.

“Crow…?” Aziraphale’s hand closed around the demon’s jacket.

There was a rush of breath from Crowley. “Dammit angel! I thought– What the hell have those runes done to you?”

“Language,” his voice was reedy, and far too thin sounding. He winced. Everything ached terribly.

A choked sound came from Crowley and then the demon was wrapping himself around him. “You bastard. You absolute bastard.”

He struggled to open his eyes, blinking as something wet splashed against his cheek. Tears. Crowley was crying. “Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale raised a shaking hand, and, with unsteady fingers, began to brush away the tears from Crowley’s cheeks. “I’m alright, dear boy. See?” Crowley only held him tighter. He searched the demon’s expression, hesitating. “Did I hurt you?”

“Did you–” Crowley choked, catching his hand and cradling it against his wet cheek. “You idiotic bastard. I thought you– that you were– that I had gone and– and–” Crowley’s voice broke.

Aziraphale traced a small circle against the demon’s skin with his thumb. “It’s alright, dear, I’m right here.”

Crowley sucked in a wet breath. “And what have you gone and done to yourself now?”

Aziraphale shuddered. He tried to contain the movement, but that only seemed to make it worse. His teeth chattered as he became wholly aware of the empty silence pressing in on them. He stopped breathing.

“Angel?” Crowley’s expression became worried. “Oh no, no no, don’t do that again.” The demon let go of his hand and brushed his thumb against his cheek, tapping his nose briefly. “Breathe angel.”

He couldn’t.

“Please?”

He wavered, and Crowley changed tactics, bring Aziraphale’s hand to rest against his chest.

“Just like this.” Crowley took a deep breath to demonstrate, chest expanding under Aziraphale’s fingers.

Aziraphale took a small, shuddering pull of air.

Crowley grinned, the expression relieved and strained all at the same time. “That’s right, angel. Just like that.”

The air sat in Aziraphale’s lungs. Heavy. Like a lead weight. Weighing him down. It felt wrong. A foreign presence. One, he almost couldn’t stand. Not… not when everything felt so _wrong_.

His shaking grew worse.

Crowley made a distressed sound, fingers running circles against his hand. “Hey, hey, you’re okay.”

He shook his head, eyes burning with tears.

“Talk to me, angel. What’s going on?”

He swallowed, trying to find his voice. “I did–” The words were near silent. He took in a tiny bit more air. “I did what needed to be done.”

The look of stricken fear that came to Crowley’s face was horrible.

Oh. He should have phrased that better, less like, well… like something his former side would have said to brush aside the worst of the atrocities they’d committed in the name of the All Mighty. Things that Aziraphale still had nightmares about.

And now, Crowley was staring at him like he’d committed another one.

“No, I just–” his voice caught.

Crowley gave his trembling hand another comforting squeeze. “It’s alright, angel. I’ve got you.”

The contact was grounding. Reassuring. Crowley wasn’t going anywhere. They were safe. Tears slipped down Aziraphale’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want– there was no time, and– and– I almost _hurt_ you.” His breath stuttered.

Soft lips pressed against the knuckles of his hand. Aziraphale startled. He looked at Crowley, only to find the demon staring at him with the softest expression he’d ever seen. Aziraphale went still, swallowing hard. They gazed at each other for a long moment, before Aziraphale tugged Crowley closer by their clasped hands.

Crowley came willingly, reaching out, cradling him and Aziraphale nestled against his chest. The demon made soft comforting sounds, whispering against his hair. “We’re alright, angel. I’ve got you right here. We’re okay now. See?”

He nodded, silent, tears still slipping down his cheeks. He shut his eyes. He felt Crowley’s arms wrap tighter around him and Aziraphale latch on to him just as firmly. Tension slipped out of his shoulders as he allowed himself to finally draw a deep breath. The… _nothingness_ roared in again, biting at his senses.

He shuddered, pressing his face further against Crowley.

Crowley continued to murmur a litany of words in his ear.

The only point of connection he now had.

Another shudder ran through his frame. Aziraphale bit his lip. He… he had to tell him.

He swallowed hard, voice shaking, “Crowley?”

“I’m here,” was the gentle answer.

His throat felt tight. The wind blew through the long grass around them. He could hear the ebb and flow of the air, the way it made everything dance. A single song, a tune, where there should have been so much more. A symphony of melodies, choirs full of notes, but now… now everything was silent. Cut off.

“The ru…” He shuddered, teeth chattering.

“Breathe angel,” Crowley murmur, resting his chin against Aziraphale’s head. “I’ve got you.” Aziraphale blinked, looking up at him as he listened to the comforting sound of Crowley’s heartbeat. How odd. That he had become so used to the sound of something they didn’t need.

He took a breath, and this time the rush of air was grounding. He was still here. And… if he was being honest, perhaps even a little bold, he was here and so was Crowley. That was enough. He closed his eyes, breathed. He needed to tell the demon what he had done. “A– a binding, coupled with a banishment of– of power.”

Crowley’s made a sound of confusion. “What?”

“The–the runes.” A huff of breath escaped him, one that, under different circumstances, would have been a laugh. “You could say I’ve locked myself in. And that horrible spell, it can’t– can’t get me like this.”

“Angel,” alarm crept into Crowley’s voice even as he tried to keep his tone gentle sounding, “angel, human magic can’t tell the difference between what is and isn’t occult powers.”

“Well, yes, that’s because, fundamentally there isn’t a difference. Just… arbitrary rules.” He sighed. So, so many arbitrary rules. Rules that had claimed a demon couldn’t preform a miracle, and had also stated an angel couldn’t possess a human. Beliefs he and Crowley had blown holes through, and that left Aziraphale with the far too dangerous question: How much really did separate a demon from an angel?

“Fuck.” Crowley let out a hissed breath. Aziraphale felt him shift, as Crowley tried to peer down at the runes marking the back of his neck.

He tightened his hold on the demon. “Please leave them be, dear.”

“But–!”

“It’s the only thing stopping me from– from–” his voice cracked.

Crowley went stiff under his arms, voice shaky. “And that– that spell _thing _that was tangling you up– that leechy human spell– where did it end up?”

“Locked outside. Banished, really.” He tried to make his voice as calm as possible for the next part. “The runes you drew pulled the spell off me, along– along my power– banished it all– but– but, it’s all fine, and the binding rune worked, so it’s all tip top. Can’t complain, after all, I uh, remained here.” Instead of leaving an empty shell behind. He shuddered. “Everything else is just… cut off.”

And the silence was painful.

Crowley made a strangled noise. “You don’t mean–”

He nodded. “Even Her.”

“Angel!”

“It’s _not_ hurting me.” Physically. It _wasn’t_, but… His lips trembled, eyes still burning with tears, but he had to keep it together otherwise Crowley would–

The demon hissed, hand moving. “That needs to go, right now.”

“Don’t touch it!” There was a sharp edge to his voice as he pulled away. Crowley flinched back. Both of them froze. Inside his jacket, Aziraphale felt the circle drawn in his own blood heat up. Oh, oh no. The summoning spell. It gave him a degree of control over Crowley, but he hadn’t meant for it to– Aziraphale felt sick. “Crowley, I didn’t– I’m sorry. I didn’t mean– are you, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, angel.” The demon straightened, but there was something still desperate in his expression. “Aziraphale.” They sat opposite each other now, staring, some invisible line trying draw itself down the middle, to separate them. Crowley swallowed hard. “We have to do something about those runes, angel. They’re hurting you.”

“No.”

“Angel!”

“This isn’t– isn’t up for debate!” His fingers curled into the dirt. “I don’t–” He stopped, drawing a breath. He weighed his words, before setting his resolve. He stared the demon down. “I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

Crowley looked startled. Silence hung in the air, the edge of something prodding at them both. Something neither of them had ever dared to say aloud.

“You–” Crowley let out a breath, looking away as he ran a hand through his hair. “What a bloody pair we make.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but give weak laugh, only to wince. He was still recovering, despite the help Crowley had done by healing his human body.

Worry creased the demon’s face once more. “We should get you inside. Can you stand?”

Aziraphale’s fingers dug further into the dirt. He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to experience what this– this– _emptiness– _would feel like if he got up.

Crowley reached out, gently taking his hands and drawing his fingers away from the ground. “I’ve got you, angel.” There was that soft look again. “You’re not going to disappear.”

He stared at Crowley, suddenly very aware of the look of understanding in those serpent yellow eyes. Crowley would know, wouldn’t he. About how empty and quiet it was. Not being able to feel Her. Guilt flooded through Aziraphale. He looked away. “I’m sorry.” The word felt wholly inadequate, and it only made his feel more retched. “I should have–” Tears burned at the corner of his eyes again. “I’m not brave.”

“Bullocks.” Crowley reached out and, with an ease Aziraphale envied, brushed away the tears from his cheeks. “You’re the bravest being I know, angel. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He swallowed hard, wanting to believe, but he found he was just too tired. Too much had happened, and after everything… “They… stole a blood feather.” Among all the other feathers they’d taken.

Crowley blinked, perhaps caught off guard by his words. His eyes darted briefly in the direction of where Aziraphale’s right wing would have been, had it still been present on this layer of reality. The motion spoke louder than anything, affirming that Crowley had already guessed correctly about the feather.

Crowley dragged his eyes away, his voice level, almost casual sounding. “Yeah, I had… wondered about that.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “They didn’t… take it for the atheistic.”

There was a long pause. A frown knitting its way between the demon’s brow. “What are–”

“There’s a reason I had to banish all power.” The smile Aziraphale could feel on his lips was tight, a weak, miserable looking thing, no doubt. “A spell using a being’s blood, it gives the caster a measure of power over… well, whoever’s blood was taken, and that, combined that with the innate power of a celestial feather and well…”

Crowley went very still. “Imposed human will.” And then he hissed like a boiling kettle. “And they can control you with that!”

Aziraphale nodded, feeling tired all over again. “Human magic might not be as old compared to us, but it well makes up for that by being clever.”

“Not really in an appreciative mood right now, angel.” Crowley ground his teeth. “How do we break it?”

Aziraphale hesitated. He wasn’t a fool. He knew exactly what Crowley would do when he answered. What they would have to do. But leaving matters be, doing nothing, he knew it would be no better. He sighed, shutting his eyes for a brief moment, but he couldn’t stand the darkness the resided there. The aching void_._

He forced his eyes open again, staring at Crowley. “We break the spell by either destroying my–the feathers–” He swallowed hard, not continuing.

“Or?”

He flinched, hunching into himself.

Crowley touched his arm, concern and something gentle colouring his voice, “Angel?”

“The caster,” he said, voice barely a breath. “Or destroying the caster.”

Silence hung over the field for a long moment.

“Right.” Crowley rose to his feet. Aziraphale grabbed his hand. “Angel–”

“You can’t go alone.”

Crowley immediately bristled. “And what? Who am I supposed to call up and–” He stopped mid-word, finally recognizing the expression on Aziraphale’s face. “Bloody– absolutely not! You are _not_ coming with me angel!”

Aziraphale’s lips trembled, but he gave Crowley a fierce look. “Crowley, I’ve already made up my mind–”

“No, no, no! You’ve not made up anything,” Crowley snapped. “Are you even thinking about this– How are you even planning to kill those humans!” Aziraphale flinched. But that was the reaction Crowley had been aiming for. “You see?”

He tightened his hold on the demon. “This– this is not up for debate!”

“Debate? Aziraphale, angel, I’m not putting you in a situation where you’re driven back into the lion’s den! I can’t do that–”

“And how do you think I feel!” The words burst out of him, startling them both. Aziraphale flushed red but stuck his chin out stubbornly. “You _cannot_ leave me behind, Crowley. Or have you forgotten about the fact I summoned you?” Crowley froze. Aziraphale tugged at his jacket, showing just the edge of the summoning circle hidden inside. “I have to go with you, and that’s final. I– I know this isn’t what either of us want, but… Crowley, I have to go, because–” his voice wavered, dropping, losing the certainty he’d felt moments before, “because I…” The words caught on his tongue.

Because he cared about Crowley far too much to… to let him face this alone.

“Shut it.” Crowley wouldn’t look him.

Aziraphale stiffened, his hand slipping out of Crowley’s. “Oh.” His hand fell limp to his side, fingers feeling empty. He sniffed, breaking the heavy silence. “Well. Those are the facts of the matter.”

Back still toward him, Crowley ran a hand down his face. “Fine!” He wheeled about, pointing a sharp boney finger. “But we are doing this _my_ way.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course.”

Silence was his answer. The wind blew through the field.

“Good,” Crowley said, but he still wasn’t looking at him.

Aziraphale opened his mouth.

The demon turned on his heel and walked away.

Aziraphale hesitated, slowly pushing himself up onto his feet. The quiet empty space where everything else should have been roared loudly in his head. It was overwhelming, almost sending him back to his knees. He staggered, catching himself, breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t–

He looked out across the field, but Crowley didn’t turn around.

Right. Of course. Aziraphale’s eyes were stinging as he straightened. His body felt cold. But he couldn’t focus on that. There was a job to do. He was supposed to be brave. Supposed to place one foot in front of the other. To keep going. He swallowed hard. He could do that. He had to.

Shakily, he began to walk, following silently in Crowley’s wake. He shivered. But it didn’t matter, he reminded himself. No matter how unbearable the silence was. He had to keep going.

After all, they’d already wasted enough time.

* * *

The rusted-out car appeared out of the gloom ahead of them, but Aziraphale only felt dismay. It was still so far away and he…

He couldn’t focus on that. Crowley was ahead of him, pace steady and steps even. Aziraphale refused to slow them down. He couldn’t be a burden. Not for this. But he felt shaky, even as he forced his feet to keep moving. Sweat built on his brow. He felt clammy.

He shook his head, ignoring the way his vision fizzled at the edges. He had to keep going. The rusty car was right there, almost… almost in reach. He could do this.

Crowley reached it first and turned with a huff, only for his whole posture to jump when he saw Aziraphale. “Angel!”

But Aziraphale ignored him. He kept moving. He couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when he was so close.

He felt half blind when he finally reached for the car door, his hands shaking. His fingers missed the handle on his first try, bouncing painfully off it the second, before his third attempt finally landed a solid hold on the handle. He pulled. The screech of the rusty hinges hurt his ears and then he was wavering, teetering.

Crowley caught him before he fell, helping him onto the musty passenger seat. Aziraphale sank back against the moth-eaten cushion, dizzy, trying to start his breathing again. He knew Crowley was hovering over him, passing judgment. He needed to get his act together. And that meant, even if he wanted a moment, wanted to catch his breath, he couldn’t remain like this. So, with infinite reluctance, Aziraphale forced himself to sit upright.

Posture set, he looked Crowley straight in the eye. “I’m alright now.” His voice didn’t shake.

Crowley was leaning against the open door, worry visible in his yellow eyes. “Are you sure, angel?”

“Perfectly.” He couldn’t leave room for hesitation. Not now. Not for the fear beating inside him, not for the chill that had settled in the very chore of his being, not for anything. Not even for Crowley.

Crowley’s expression did a funny little shift. “Aziraphale?”

He tensed, turning his head away. He stared out through the chipped glass of the front windscreen. The fine cracks were barely noticeable in the gloom, each line spinning out like spiderwebs. He followed them with his eyes, pretending that he wasn’t fully aware of Crowley’s gaze trying to burn holes through him.

Crowley sighed, but still made no move for the driver’s side.

Aziraphale shifted, straightening his posture further. “I don’t believe we have any time to waste.”

“Angel, I know you’re trying to prove a point, but I have to ask. You said banishment of power, and that you’re cut off from… everything.” There was a pause, before Crowley cleared his throat, and said in a low tone, “Angel, how do you plan to defend yourself if you can’t even pop up a miracle right now?”

Aziraphale couldn’t stop his hands from clenching. “If you are insinuating I’m defenseless, I can assure you, I am anything but.”

The frown grew deeper on Crowley’s face. “Angel, that’s not–”

“I am not having this discussion, Crowley. I am more than capable of fighting. I’m not–not–” He stuttered, lungs tight. He could see Crowley reaching out for him, but that only upset Aziraphale more. “I’m not made of glass! I can fight! So stop defending me!”

Crowley jerked back as though zapped.

They stared at each other and, for just a second, Crowley looked hurt. Guilt stabbed at Aziraphale, and the instinctive need to apologize bubbled up.

Crowley pulled away, hands shoved into his pockets. “Right. Of course, silly me.”

Aziraphale floundered. He hadn’t meant– “Crowley–”

“It’s fine, angel.”

No. It _wasn’t_. But the words tangled on Aziraphale’s tongue. How did he even–?

Crowley shifted off the door. “Shall we depart then?”

Aziraphale’s mouth felt dry. “Crowley–” But the demon wouldn’t look at him. Aziraphale deflated. “Of course.”

Crowley gave a mocking bow. “As the angel commands.” He shoved the passenger door shut with a bang that made Aziraphale flinch. After marching around the automobile, Crowley climbed into the driver’s seat.

Aziraphale stared at him, almost hesitating. “Crowley.” He curled his hands, fingers digging into the cloth of his trousers. “That’s not what I meant.”

The demon hissed. “Does it really matter? You want to go. I don’t want you to go. We don’t agree. There’s no winning.”

Aziraphale tensed. “Is that how you perceive this? A game that needs winning?”

“Games are not things you play with your life!”

This time both of them looked away.

No one spoke. The silence stretched on and on.

Crowley’s hands were white knuckled on the steering wheel when Aziraphale chanced a look.

The demon’s yellow eyes glowed in the dark cabin, focused on the field ahead of them. “Right.” Crowley set his foot down on the gas pedal and the rusty car knew better than to disappoint.

It sprang back to life, and then they were off, leaving the cottage and the still smoking crater behind.

Aziraphale sank back into his seat, keeping his lips pressed together. Things were already tense enough without adding more harsh words onto the fire.

He shuddered, trying to push that thought as far away from himself. He didn’t want to think of fire or– or anything of that nature. He needed to gather himself. To just… take a moment. There was something close to a headache building in his head. A thrumming beat he tried to ignore. He drew a careful deep breath, clasping his hands on his lap, and hoped their shaking wasn’t obvious. They were going back. Back to the lion’s den as Crowley had named it, and for all Aziraphale’s bluster, part of him was terrified. But he had to go. Crowley was a summon bound to his orbit, and so where one of them went, so too did the other have to follow.

Aziraphale shut his eyes and tried to compose himself. Crowley was still angry, still willfully ignoring him. Which was just fine, he could take this moment and– _and–_ He told himself it didn’t matter if his shaking was visible. The archangels had never noticed.

So this was fine. Better than fine.

Both of them were…

Aziraphale sighed, resisting the urge to rub at his aching head.

The silence in the car was heavy. Aziraphale sank lower, trying not to feel miserable. There was a long ride ahead of them still. One he wasn’t looking forward to in the slightest. He sighed, and tried to watch the miles roll by.

It was some time later that he noticed Crowley growing restless beside him. Aziraphale kept his eyes locked on the cracked window, pretending to ignore him. The last thing he wanted was to set Crowley off again. Even if he did try to engage the demon, what could he even say?

_Are you done being angry with me? _Didn’t seem like a good opener.

He sighed and let the silence remain.

Crowley drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, before he reached for the radio, fiddling with the nob. Static hissed from the speakers, shifting and growling with each flick of the dial. Aziraphale grimaced, wincing with each snatch and snarl of noise. Crowley huffed, glaring at the contraption, before it promptly switched to a station that was playing a softly sung melody.

Crowley retracted his hand from the nob and began tapping at the steering wheel in time with the notes.

The night was dark. No lights seem to exist beyond the headlights cast by their own vehicle. Aziraphale watched the way the pavement sped by, the way the shadows twisted. Watched how the scenery disappeared into the gloom, swallowed by the inky darkness. An emptiness where nothing returned from.

Aziraphale shuddered, his breath trying to stutter to a halt again.

Beside him, Crowley began to quietly hum along with the radio. The soft tune rolled around the cabin, filling the empty space.

Aziraphale felt the tension from his building headache slowly ebb. The song was… pleasant. Comforting. An easy focus, like the soft lilting rhythm one heard from waves rolling up a sandy shore. The feel of soft sand beneath his feet. Aziraphale felt his breathing even out, as he sank back into the seat.

His eyelids felt heavy.

Crowley’s soft humming grew louder in his ears.

He didn’t notice when his eyes slipped shut, or when he slid over the line into quiet rest.

_Half-shaped images played through his mind. A picnic blanket stretched out as far as the eye could see, his feet sinking into its soft surface with each step. Crowley was smiling at him, a wine bottle and a wicker basket held aloft in invitation. A basket full of bloodstained feathers._

Aziraphale woke with a jolt. Darkness greeted him.

Silence pressed against his ears.

The engine was dead.

He lurched upright in the passenger seat, heart still pounding. “Crowley–?”

The driver seat was empty.

Panic rocketed through him, and Aziraphale grabbed the handle for the door beside him only to find it locked. The door wouldn’t move. Heart rising to his throat, he threw himself across to the driver’s seat, trying the other door. Also locked. Aziraphale stopped breathing.

Trapped.

He was _trapped._

Terror sang in his veins and Aziraphale swung his fist at the locked door. The rusted metal bent and shattered under the force. Cool night air spilled in and he shoved the remains of the door out of the way as he scrambled out.

He leaned against the side of the car, gasping. Even without miracles, Aziraphale had first and foremost been an angel created to be a warrior. His physical strength was his alone. Something that could not be taken away by magic. He drew in another deep gasping breath, filling his lungs, trying to calm the racing heart beating like a war drum in his chest. He shuddered, a sob trying to build in his throat. He looked out past the car and that was when he caught sight of the flicker of movement.

He straightened and there, sulking away in the shadows, heading toward the shape of a ruined monastery, was a familiar figure. Crowley.

Shaking head to toe, Aziraphale bellowed at the demon, “Crowley!” His voice boomed, filled with a righteous anger he had not felt for centuries. His fingers clenched on the roof, nails digging into the rust, leaving groves and dents as he rose to stand at his full height. “Stop right there!”

Crowley jumped like a scalded cat. He turned, panicked, even as he tried to downplay his reaction. “Angel, I was just–”

“You were leaving me behind!” There was a burning feeling in his throat, a threat of tears in his eyes.

Crowley shook his head wildly. “No, no angel that’s–”

“Don’t lie to me!”

Crowley grimaced, looking down at the white jacket he was dressed in. Aziraphale realized with a numb feeling of horror he was staring at his own coat. Crowley had stolen his hundred and eighty-year-old coat and was currently wearing it. The demon cringed, finally looking back up at him. “Okay, yeah, it is as bad as it looks.”

“How dare you!” That feeling of tears was growing worse, like he was on the edge of exploding and leaving nothing behind. He couldn’t think beyond his own panic. Crowley had taken his coat, the source of the demon’s summoning, and left behind the one part of the ritual that wasn’t actually needed: Aziraphale himself. “What in Heaven’s name do you think–”

“For goodness sakes angel, don’t call them into this! We already have enough trouble already.”

That only angered him more. “You listen here Anthony J. Crowley! I am done playing _games_. We agreed to– to–” Then he realized. They _hadn’t_ agreed. Crowley hadn’t wanted him to come. Tears built in Aziraphale’s eyes, dangerous close to falling. “I thought we were in this together!”

Crowley hissed through his teeth. “We are!”

“Then why did you trap me!”

“Because you ordered me _not_ to protect you!” Crowley shouted. Aziraphale frozen, staring at him. “How am I supposed to– I can’t even– bloody _anything_ Aziraphale, you’re terrified out of your mind and I not even allowed to keep you safe!” Crowley covered his face. “Dammit.”

That was when Aziraphale realized he was seeing a reflection of his own shaking terror in Crowley. That feeling of _trapped, trapped, trapped_ that still beat in time with his frightened heart. Both of them wanted to protect the other, and both of them had been too careless.

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “Not protecting me… that wasn’t the only order I’ve given you, was it.”

Crowley’s harsh snort of air only made his answer worse. “I can’t lie.”

Aziraphale pressed his hands against the rusty car. “Then I retract my orders. All of them!”

Crowley immediately lurched out of the spot he’d been standing, shaking out both his feet. Aziraphale felt a sinking feeling in his chest. He’d ordered Crowley to stop where he was, locking him in place. Foolish. Hadn’t he realized back at the cottage he needed to watch his wording?

“Crowley, I’m sorry,” his voice shook. “I was careless and you– I should have been more careful. Having such a thing done to you–”

“Angel, stop.”

Aziraphale stuttered, becoming aware that there were tears on his face. He looked up at Crowley, feeling lost.

Crowley winced, going still. “It wasn’t just you. I…” The demon’s throat bobbed visibly before he shuffled nervously on his feet. “I’m sorry too, angel.” His shoulders hunched up. “I think… we’re both a little high-strung right now.”

Aziraphale choked on something that might have been a laugh. “Never would have guessed.”

Crowley took one look at his tears and looked away. “I think I owe you double of everything on our picnic list.”

“Add in a whole black forest cake from that bakery we visited last month and we’ll call it even then.” Aziraphale brushed at his face, offering Crowley a smile.

“Done,” said the demon, his expression earnest. “And anything else you want.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I know…” He stopped, offering a smile, before he drew a breath. “I know you want me to be safe, Crowley. And I…” he trailed out, floundering, “I want the same–” The rest of his sentence caught his mouth as a wave of dizziness overtook him. His head felt like it was trying to fly off into a different orbit. He caught the roof of the car, trying to steady himself.

“Angel?” He blinked, head clearing, only to startle when he saw how very close Crowley was.

“What–” Crowley reached out to him, and Aziraphale went still. The demon’s fingers were shockingly cold against his forehead, making him flinch. The headache pounding dully against his temples, however, was wiped away a second later by a careful brush of demonic power. Aziraphale couldn’t help but give a sigh of relief.

The worried frown growing on Crowley’s face, however, was concerning. “Angel,” he began as he drew his hand away, “exactly what other side effects are those runes causing?”

Aziraphale crossed his arms, grimacing. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t– don’t tell me it’s experimental!” Crowley’s voice rose.

Aziraphale huffed. “Then I won’t.”

“_Angel_.” It amazed him how much emotion Crowley could pack into that one tiny little word.

He huffed, staring at the demon. “What do you want me to say? That I’m cold? That I don’t know if the headache is caused by my own stress or that it’s a side effect from the runes?” He hugged himself tighter, gaze dropping. “What good will that do?”

There was silence for a moment, before the click of fingers made him look up again with surprise. A warm sweater had appeared around him, fluffy and already pushing away the cold.

“Better?” Crowley wasn’t quite looking at him.

Aziraphale swallowed, trying to find his voice. “Yes, thank you.” 

Crowley have a stiff nod. “Shall we keep going then?”

“Yes, right, of course.” He cleared his throat, hesitating. “Shall we?” He regarded Crowley, waiting. But for what he wasn’t quite sure.

The demon met his gaze, letting out a breath. “Alright. But you tell me the moment you start feeling off again, none of this martyr or greater good stuff yeah?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Crowley nodded. “Come on then, angel this way.” He pointed toward the ruined monastery, the same place they’d escaped from earlier that afternoon. Aziraphale let go of the car, and with steadier steps then he expected, he began to walk forward, only this time, Crowley walked beside him.

* * *

A layer of soot covered everything as they moved about the dark interior of the burnt-out monastery. Aziraphale almost didn’t recognize it. Crowley miracled a torch into being, which he used to help them move about the wreckage. Whatever Crowley had set on fire earlier that day had thoroughly done its job. Almost nothing was left, and no one was here.

Neither of them spoke as they moved further into the unsettling quiet building. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that the place now seemed deserted. That whatever holiness this place once had was now gone. That the ground no longer effected Crowley’s feet.

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “There’s nothing here.” His voice sounded far too loud for the deadened space.

Crowley grimaced, prodding at a half-charred desk. The burnet wood collapsed, sending up a cloud of ash. Crowley wheezed, stumbling back with an arm covering his face.

“Crowley,” he said, admonishing. “Please do take care of my coat, I’ve had that for more than 180 years now, I would like to keep it a while longer.”

Crowley didn’t seem to hear him. “How could the humans just leave!” He threw his hands out in agitation, stomping about the empty room. “After all the trouble those– those _cultists_ went through to get their grimy little paws on you. They can’t have just packed shop and let you go on your merry way!”

Aziraphale felt a tremor run through his frame. “They haven’t.”

“What?”

He sighed, nervously pulling at the sleeve of his sweater. “Crowley, what do you think that whole business with my body trying to smite you was about?” When he saw the somewhat blank look on the demon’s face, he gave a deeper sigh. “No doubt, they intended to call me back, after I–” his voice cracked, “well, that is, after causing you a great deal of grievance for saving me.”

Crowley grimaced, turning away toward a burnt-out bookshelf. “They certainly accomplished that.” Aziraphale winced, guilt bubbling up anew. “Angel?” He tried to straighten out his expression, but Crowley must have seen it, because he moved toward him. “You alright?”

Aziraphale twisted his hands together, shaking his head. “It’s nothing.” He tried to give a reassuring smile, but even he could tell it wasn’t convincing, not with the way Crowley was still eyeing him.

Crowley sighed. “I don’t suppose they were kind enough to leave a forwarding address?”

“What?”

Crowley gestured at him. “That leechy spell, could you tell where it was going to lead you back to?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale bit his lip. “There– there really wasn’t any communication from– from–” His hands were shaking again. His neck itched. He blinked his eyes hard, trying to clear his throat. “Just that it was going after you and– and I–”

He was startled when Crowley took his hands, smoothing the back of his knuckles. Aziraphale swallowed hard.

“It’s alright,” Crowley’s voice was gentle, quiet. “I’m fine, remember?”

His throat felt tight though. “No thanks to me.”

“It’s not your fault, angel.”

“Isn’t it? It was my corporation trying to smite you after all.”

“That one is on every one of those cultists’ heads.” Crowley squeezed his hands, a gentle reminder, a way to ground them both. “And we’re both going to be raining down the consequences of that, yeah?”

He still felt shaky. “That is if we can even find them, remember? No forwarding address and all that.” He sighed. “Calling them up would be–Oh. OH!”

“What? Angel what is it?”

“Calling them!” Aziraphale ignored the confused sounds Crowley made as he moved about, grabbing a charred bit of stick that might have once been a chair leg. He tried to clear a patch of floor, only for nothing to happen when he snapped his fingers. He toed the caked on fire damage, before he turned pleading eyes onto Crowley. “Would you be a dear and…” He gestured at the floor around them.

Crowley gave him a quizzical look, but with a snap of his fingers, the soot and grime cleared. Aziraphale gave him a grateful smile and set to work.

Pressing the charred end of the stick to the stone floor, he began to draw. Charcoal flakes broke off, falling like rain as the stick let out an unsettling combination of screeching and scrapping sounds as the burnt wood met stone. Crowley winced, silently watching as he worked. One circle came into existence, followed by a second larger one. Aziraphale was starting on the sigils and runes when Crowley drew a sharp breath.

“Aziraphale,” there was wariness in the demon’s voice. “Who exactly are you summoning?”

Aziraphale made a vague humming sound. “Difficult to say. Depends on who’s holding them really.”

“Holding what?”

Aziraphale kept drawing out the symbols of the summoning circle, not daring to look up. “My feathers.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

His hand tightened on the scorched chair leg. “If this does work the way I think it will, then all my feathers should be summoned right here to us. Rather convenient really, will save us a lot of trouble in the long run.”

“Hold up,” said Crowley. “And what about the part you said about whoever’s holding them!”

Aziraphale shuddered and tried to give Crowley a winning smile, though the expression felt more than a little strained. “Oh, well, that’s what I have you here for, dear.”

Crowley made a frustrated sound. “Angel, that’s not–”

“I’m done.” Aziraphale stepped back from the edge of the circle. “Should be easy enough. All I have to do now is summon myself.” He surveyed his work. “And thanks to the runes you drew on my neck for me, the summoning will skip over me and go for whatever small traces of my ethereal presence it can find.”

“Your feathers.”

“Exactly.”

“Along with the possibly very angry cultists holding them.”

“Well…” Aziraphale floundered, “possibly.”

Crowley gave the summoning circle the same look humans gave explosives when they weren’t sure when the timer was going to go off. Perhaps their gamble was that dangerous. It wouldn’t take much for this to backfire in some way.

Aziraphale drew a deep breath, held it for a moment, and drew up what remained of his ragged courage. “Are you ready for this, dear?”

“What! Angel–!”

“Right. Here we go!” He called out the incantation to start the summoning.

The circle glowed, building with power as the spell rolled easily off his tongue. He could have performed this in his sleep, which was just as well, seeing as he’d used it to call Crowley while he was barely conscious. The light from the circle grew blinding and Aziraphale had to look away. With a final word of the summoning, a sharp pop sounded and everything went still.

Slowly Aziraphale turned back.

Ashes and half burnt feathers littered the ground inside the circle. But at the very centered, a small dominative man stood, blinking. Their gazes met and Aziraphale felt his throat close up.

A tremor ran through his body. He couldn’t breathe as a single name escaped past his terrified lips, “Dante.” At the very center of the circle now stood the very man who had arranged his kidnapping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale: That leechy human spell tried to hack me, so I turned off my celestial wifi!
> 
> Crowley: * internal panicked screaming * This is fine.
> 
> And there you have chapter 2! I ended up getting a lot more mileage out of Crowley and Aziraphale trying to head back to the monastery than I thought I would, along with the fallout from the previous chapter. Given that, I wanted to give this part of the story its own space rather than pairing it up with the confrontation with Dante, which is now going to be chapter 3! 
> 
> I fully admit to enjoying writing drama, which pretty much sums up this chapter. On a more fun side note, the line about the black forest cake was subbed in (originally Aziraphale requested a cheesecake) because I thoroughly enjoyed the lockdown video and couldn’t resist referencing it. I also really like the idea that the radio station Crowley turns on in the rusty car was singing Aziraphale a lullaby. 
> 
> Anyway, I've got most of the next chapter written so it won't be another 6+ months before it's posted. Stay tuned next for the confrontation with Dante and the final wrap up for our two ineffable dorks.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with and reading! Hope you enjoyed and stay safe out there!


	3. Reckoning

Aziraphale was shaking, eyes locked on the man standing inside the glowing summoning circle. “Dante.”

Of course, Aziraphale thought in some distant part of his frantic mind, of course it was Dante, out of all of the humans, who– who had–

Dante was the one still holding onto his feathers. Of course. _Of course. _

Dante adjusted his worn suit jacket, eyes fixed on Aziraphale. “Well, this saves me a lot of trouble.” His gaze swept over him, taking in Aziraphale’s pale face, the way his shaking hands grasped at each other, and the ridiculous fuzzy sweater the angel was wearing. Dante made a sound of disgust. Aziraphale flinched. “Is this where you’ve been hiding all day?” Dante gestured at the burnt-out room, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “You led me on a merry chase, while you made a nest here in the ashes?” An angry huff. “What else should I have expected from something like you.”

Aziraphale couldn’t breathe. A hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped. His eyes flew to Crowley who was bristling like a viper ready to strike. The demon’s hand rested on Aziraphale’s shoulder, a protective weight. A comfort. A startling contrast to the storm brewing in his yellow eyes. The glow in them was unsettlingly bright, and all that dangerous focus was trained solely on Dante. Without uttering a word, Crowley gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, before he stepped around Aziraphale, coming to stand in front of him.

Dante regarded the demon, eyes following the protective hand that slipped from Aziraphale’s shoulder. Then the human’s gaze locked onto Aziraphale again. “Destroy him.”

Aziraphale froze, heart in his throat. Dante thought he could still be controlled.

Crowley outright hissed. _“You–!”_

“I order you to destroy him!” Dante pointed sharply at the demon.

Aziraphale made no move, breath dead in his throat.

Dante frowned. He drew a glowing object from his pocket, frowning even more. He gave the object a shake, before he looked at Aziraphale again. “Step to your left.”

Aziraphale clutched at the sleeves of his fuzzy sweater as he finally recognized what Dante was holding. His feather. The glowing object in Dante’s hand was his blood feather. And it was all trussed up in the human spell that had turned him into a marionette. The spell that had made him try to smite Crowley.

Dante’s expression grew dark. “Did you not hear me?”

Aziraphale felt his teeth began to chatter, his shaking growing worse.

Crowley sneered, teeth sharp. “Ssso sorry, but you picked the wrong beings to mess with.”

Dante made a frustrated sound, gaze finally shifting to Crowley. He studied the demon, finally taking notice of him. “You. How did you circumvent my spell without breaking it?”

Crowley scoffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Aziraphale stiffened. Dante thought Crowley was the one that had stopped his spell. Heart racing, Aziraphale almost reached for Crowley’s sleeve, but such a move would be too obvious, give away far more than he wanted Dante to see. He clenched his sweater tighter, twisting the knitted threads against his fingers.

“Come now, why keep secrets? We’re all gentlemen here.”

“Gentlemen?” Crowley let out a scoff of disbelief. “You think that’ll be enough to save your hide?”

“Certainly,” Dante said like they were talking about the weather. “I believe in the practical nature of things. You see, we humans are always looking for a way to get ahead. My followers wanted power, recognition, wealth. And you, demon, you can provide me with the tools to get there. It’s really all about finding the right price. And knowing how much one is willing to pay for it. For example, perhaps a deal for my soul?”

“Your soul isn’t worth shit,” Crowley spat.

Dante didn’t sound offended, tone remaining mild. “But it _is_ worth something to you. Why else would I have been called here?”

Crowley grit his teeth, disgusted. He glanced back at Aziraphale. “I’m in favour of just killing him and just being done with this.”

“Go ahead,” Dante said, arms held wide, and tone unbothered. “Do your worst, demon.”

Crowley’s hand came up. Expression dark.

Aziraphale panicked. “Crowley!”

Crowley snapped his fingers. There was a rush of demonic power, the air practically _burning_ with the heat of it. Aziraphale instinctively flinched, but none of it harmed him. It all rushed toward Dante, like claws ready to dig in. Crowley’s power lashed out, only to bend away from Dante, just like all the miracles Aziraphale had thrown before this. Like a parted tide, the energy bounced away, splashing out into the room and carving deep gouges into the stone walls behind Dante.

Dante let out a nervous laugh, adjusting his suit jacket. He studied the groves with interest and a low whistle. “Impressive.” He glanced back at Crowley, eyes calculating. “Well, now that you have that out of your system, are you ready to negotiate?”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm before the demon could do anything further. The smile on Dante’s face was anything but pleasant. They had to be careful. Throwing miracles around willy nilly wouldn’t help them. Not when Aziraphale’s glowing blood feather afforded Dante a high level of protection that caused their power to bounce away.

Aziraphale forced down his shivering, even as his knuckles remained white from his grip on Crowley’s sleeve. “I– I hope you realize you’re not in a position to negotiate, Dante.”

Dante scoffed. “Can you not speak for yourself, demon?” Aziraphale startled, eyes jumping to Crowley before he forced them back. His lips pressed into a thin line. Dante… Dante didn’t see this as a conversation between three ‘gentlemen’. He only saw Crowley. He’d discounted Aziraphale presence entirely. Dante sighed, arms crossed. “I’m perfectly aware, demon, that I’m being held captive. And I assure you, the irony is not lost on me.” For one moment, Dante grimaced before he waved a dismissive hand in the air. “So, I ask again, have you prepared your terms, or do you wish to hear mine?”

Crowley scoffed. “How about you hand over that bloody feather and I don’t squash you flat.”

“And how exactly do you plan to carry out that threat?” Dante waggled the glowing feather for emphasis.

Crowley bit back a curse.

Dante smirked. “You’ve done one thing right, though, demon.”

Crowley’s expression became wary, but neither Crowley nor Aziraphale gave Dante the satisfaction of asking.

Dante made a tsk sound, but continued, “Demon, I’ll give you the blood feather, and any others– no, _all_ of them, and in exchange, I want total control over that _abomination_.” He pointed at Aziraphale.

A roaring sound filled Aziraphale’s head. Abomination. The word repeated over and over in his mind. His ears rang with it, a building din that pounded in time with his heart. He felt nothing. Heard nothing.

Before him, Dante smiled. The expression was sharp, vicious. The same one he’d worn as one by one each of Aziraphale’s feathers were torn out of his wing.

Distantly he heard Dante say, “A perfect deal, wouldn’t you agree, demon?”

The hand not holding onto Crowley, tightened on the chair leg, splintering the wood, leaving him with a long-jagged piece that tapered to a needle sharp point.

“Angel?” Alarm and something far more important coloured Crowley’s voice, but Aziraphale wasn’t listening.

Dante let out a bark of laughter. “Angel? Is that what you think that abomination is?” His eyes fell to Aziraphale, pinning him to the spot. “After what you did?”

Crowley faltered. “Did?”

“Oh,” Dante’s voice softened with mock sympathy, “didn’t you know?”

Aziraphale felt nothing. “Stop talking.” His voice was level, calm, flat in a way that snapped Crowley’s full attention to him.

But Dante’s expression was taunting. A confidence in his own security, that Aziraphale’s blood feather would continue to protect him. At least, until Dante opened his mouth and no sound came out.

Fear flickered across the human’s face, the same expression Aziraphale had only seen once before. Only this time, there was no burning book, and this time, Aziraphale knew what was happening.

“Release my blood feather.” The summoning circle glowed, heating up as it took Aziraphale’s command and added power to it.

Dante shuddered.

Slowly the human’s hand began to shake, his fingers slowly opening one by one against his will. The blood feather dropped from his grip, fluttering to the ground. It lay there, the ugly glow around it still going strong even lying against the summoning circle.

Dante’s eyes were wide as they flew to him. “You–” He tried to say, but the word choked in his mouth. He gasped, struggling to say more.

Aziraphale watched him, voice ice cold, “I didn’t say you could speak yet.”

Crowley was watching him too, eyes wide, stance completely still.

Aziraphale flicked his hand, changing his grip on the long wood splinter, holding it like a knife. Only then did Crowley catch his elbow in a light grip, not enough to stop him, but enough to simply slow him down and then the demon asked, “Are you sure, angel?”

Aziraphale stopped, weighing the demon’s words. Crowley knew his morals against killing. Where he stood on the matter. Did he really want this to be the first human blood he spilled?

He stared at Dante.

Dante eyed the wickedly sharp splinter in Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale drew a breath, speaking in a slow, clear voice. “There are two ways this ends, Dante. The more agreeable option has you returning my feathers. All of them.”

Dante took a step back, away from them, and crashed into the invisible barrier that was the far edge of the summoning circle. He looked scared.

“I believe you’ve already realized the other way this can go,” Aziraphale said, voice still flat. “You have one chance to relinquish my feathers, Dante, before we go with option two where I command you. That options will _not_ end well for you.” He flicked the long splinter at the air, sharp and quick as a knife. “Am I clear?”

Dante spluttered soundlessly, while Crowley gave him a sharp unfriendly smile.

“You have until the count of three to comply.” Aziraphale paused, thinking, before he nodded. “You may speak now.”

Dante sucked in a breath. “Wait, you can’t–”

“One.”

With a final caress, Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s arm.

“Two.”

Aziraphale drew himself up, expression darkening.

“Thre–”

“Stop! I give, I give!” Dante was frantic, digging into his suit jacket’s inner pockets. A half-crumpled feather was tossed carelessly out, followed by a smaller piece of a second and then a third somewhat charred one.

Crowley made a sound of rage. “How many are you hoarding in there?”

Dante flinched, clutching the jacket tighter. So, that was why he’d kept tugging at it. He’d been reassuring himself that the weight of the feathers, his protection, was still there.

“That–” Dante had to clear his throat, before he could continue, “I said I’d comply! Please, mercy! Just let me walk away at the end of this!”

“Mercy? So sorry, not my department.” Crowley showed off demonic teeth. “Should have thought of that before you went around kidnapping hapless ethereal beings.”

“You can’t just–” But Dante saw the looks on their faces. “A bargain!” he cried, cowering. “A bargain for my soul! Let me go and I’ll– I’ll–”

“Return all my feathers. Turn yourself in to the authorities,” Aziraphale said, voice quiet. “Repent for the rest of your life. And never deal with anything occult, supernatural or ethereal ever again.”

“Yes, yes!” Dante threw more feathers out of his jacket.

“Angel…” Crowley looked at him, grimacing. “Once he’s out of there, none of those commands are going to hold.”

“I know.” Aziraphale sighed, weary down to his bones. “I… I just want to go home.”

For a moment, Crowley looked like he was going to fuss over him, but then the demon nodded, and drew himself up. “Right.” He snapped a paper into existence, and with a shake of his hand, streams in writing appeared across it. All the rules Aziraphale had laid out. Crowley thrust it out for Dante to see. “Alright human, here’s the deal. Sign of your own free will and we don’t kill you. Break so much as one bit of the contract and I can assure, you won’t find one bit of the consequences enjoyable.” Crowley didn’t even try to hide his smile.

Dante stood frozen.

Crowley flicked a lazy glance at Aziraphale. “How long do we give him to mull this over?”

“Including grace period, two minutes.”

Crowley nodded. “You hear that human? I’d recommend getting rid of every single feather on your person before the time’s up.” He tossed the paper across the line into the circle.

Dante snatched it up from the ground, scanning over the text. “Why?”

Crowley shrugged lazily, stealing a glance at Aziraphale. “Is option two off the table yet?”

Aziraphale straightened under his gaze, trying to ignore the exhaustion weighing heavily on his vessel. “A minute and forty-two seconds left.”

Dante swore and dug into his suit jacket and brought out a gaudy gold fitted pen. He signed the bottom with an angry growl. “Satisfied?” He held the contract out for them to see. The signature flashed, sealing the agreement.

Aziraphale shut his eyes, relieved.

Now all that remained was the grace period.

Crowley eyed the feathers Dante had thrown from his jacket. “_Is_ that all of them?”

“All the rest burned along with my followers,” Dante said, expression tight. “This is all that’s left.”

Crowley flicked his hand, a tiny flame hovering over the point of his finger. “Well then, to answer your earlier question, if you _are_ telling the truth, you’ll have nothing to worry about in, oh, about a minute or so, human.”

Dante stiffened. “What does that mean?”

“You heard the angel, a grace period. Once it’s up, you’ll be back safe and sound in whatever mudhole you crawled out of.” Crowley let the fire dance between his fingers. “That is, if you _have_ given all the feathers up. Otherwise,” he shrugged, flicking his hand and the small ball of fire went off like a firework, “well, contract clauses about not holding up your end and all that.”

Aziraphale nodded, voice solemn, “Quite messy, I hear.”

Dante’s face went white. “_You–_” His hands tightened on his jacket. “I survived the fire you set! If you think this’ll scare–”

Crowley tsked. “Do I really need to explain the difference between _me_ setting a building on fire and your_ own _soul combusting? A few feathers are _not_ going to save you from that.”

“I’ve already done what you asked!” Dante shouted.

“And you’ve just signed your soul away, human,” Crowley said, waving his hand. The contract flashed, disappearing in a puff of dramatic smoke “Doesn’t matter to me if it’s now or later that you come to your pitiful end.”

Aziraphale drew a breath. “Thirty-six seconds left.”

Dante swore, and threw down his whole jacket. Feathers, larger ones, Aziraphale’s primaries, spilled out from where they’d been hidden in the lining. Aziraphale stared at them. Dante had made his very own angelic downy coat.

Crowley hissed as Aziraphale turned away.

Dante stood inside the circle, gasping nervously. “There! Are you satisfied now!?”

Crowley counted down the last of the time on his fingers, and then turned to Dante. There was no dramatic burst of flames. Crowley, by his expression, was disappointed. “Good job, human, you get to live another day.” He gave Dante a sour look. “Keep your nose out of our business from now on, and your soul gets to stay in its squashy human skin a while longer. Got it?”

Dante nodded.

“Good.” Crowley glanced at Aziraphale. “Any last parting shots, angel?”

Aziraphale looked Dante dead in the eye. “Never show your face to us again.”

Crowley didn’t wait for an answer. He snapped his fingers, sending Dante away. Good riddance.

Aziraphale deflated and rubbed at his tired face. “We… should do something with those.” He waved at the collection of feathers strewn about the summoning circle. He couldn’t quite bring himself to work out a plan yet on what to do with them. He just felt tired.

Crowley eyed the cluster of feathers. “Right, I’ve got this.” A flick of his hand, and a medieval torch appeared, the fire burning at the end dancing eagerly. “Stand back angel.”

Aziraphale stared at the torch. Eyes transfixed on the mesmerizing flames. “Is that hellfire?”

Crowley held the torch a little further away from them. “Close enough that feeding it more power, well, I don’t want to risk it.” He grimaced. “It’s got more juice than the stuff I used to burn this place. Hopefully it’ll be enough to ensure _nothing_ gets out of that circle intact, otherwise I will have to upgrade it.” He gave Aziraphale an apologetic look. “If we could, I would say we just keep the feathers, angel, but the moment we scrub a line on the circle, they’re just going to pop back to wherever they came from.”

Aziraphale nodded. “You don’t have to explain, dear boy, I know. It’s… safest, this way.” The one blood feather was still wrapped in a command spell. Hellfire was the best option. Aziraphale found his eyes drifting back to the flickering flame. He wondered, remembering the fearful look on Dante’s face, if power was all that was– No. Aziraphale shook his head, feeling of gnawing fear pull at him. He wasn’t going to think about that.

Crowley hesitated. “Right then. Just say the word, angel, and I’ll torch ‘em.”

Aziraphale startled. He looked at Crowley, only to see dead seriousness in his expression. “Oh.” His hand loosened, finally dropping the sharp piece of wood he’d been holding in a death grip. He almost let go of Crowley too, only to change his mind and tighten his hold. Crowley gave him a startled look. Aziraphale swallowed hard. “Do it.”

Crowley nodded, giving him a tight smile, and threw the torch.

It landed with a clatter inside the circle and Dante’s jacket caught alight. All the feathers stolen from his wings followed, each going up in flames one by one. Sparks of holy light escaped the burning plumage as the fire devoured everything. The flames quickly filled the circle, reaching greedily for the last untouched feather: his blood feather.

Aziraphale watched as the control spell sputtered as the fire touched it. There was a high pitch whistle growing to a whine, before the control spell gave and went up like firecracker. Sparks of human magic and angelic power flew up into the air, winking out like falling stars. The blood feather shriveled, curling into itself, the white darkening as it sent off more and more sparks, before the fire consumed all of it.

In less than two minutes there was nothing left but ash. 

Beside him, Crowley shuddered, but Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to feel.

Crowley whisked away the smoke, stubbing out any sparks that dared to remain. When he was done, Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “It’s safe now.”

Mechanically, Aziraphale reached out with his foot and struck through one of the circles’ lines. There was a pop as the summoning spell gave out, sending the ashes back from whence they came. Gone, leaving nothing behind.

The room was silent and Aziraphale suddenly felt lost.

He looked up at Crowley, and his expression must have shown how he was feeling, because Crowley came back to his side. He reached out, hands gently resting against his shoulders, offering him a smile. “It’s over, angel.”

And Aziraphale broke entirely. A sob escaped his throat.

Crowley’s tone only grew softer. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you, angel.”

And Aziraphale believed him. “Home.” He could barely speak, voice wobbling so badly. He pressed his forehead against Crowley’s shoulder. “Take me home, please.”

“Of course, angel.” There was a whoosh as shadowy wings unfurling, and Aziraphale could sense them resting over him like a protective shell. Crowley wrapped his arms around his waist. “Hold tight.” With a tremendous beat, the world blurred, racing away. The sensation was dizzying, and Aziraphale clung all the more tightly to Crowley. A rush of land passed beneath them, followed by water, before a moment later, they landed with a crash in the familiar dim interior of his bookshop.

They made it… they were home.

Crowley swayed, almost stumbling, but they were both too exhausted, and when Aziraphale tried to steady him, he overcomplicated and they both tumbled onto the sofa. They lay there, sprawled in a tangle of limbs, Crowley trying to catch his breath, his dark wings hanging protectively over them both. Aziraphale simply sank into the cushions, too exhausted to move. He felt weary down to his ethereal atoms. A physical weight that had settled into every one of his limbs.

Aziraphale shut his eyes, ignoring the tears still running down his face. A stuttering breath escaped him, and then another, building, building until another sob slipped past his lips. Crowley touched his shoulder, murmuring his name.

Aziraphale latched onto him, relieved beyond words. It was over. It was finally over. Another sob, but this time it was filled with relief.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, voice soft.

He drew a shaky breath, answering just as quietly, “You saved me.”

Crowley shrugged. “You did most of the saving, angel. I was just along for the ride.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I couldn’t have done it without you, dear. So, thank you.”

His companion was silent and all Aziraphale could hear was the soft sweet sounds he recognized as belonging to his beloved bookshop. Safe. They were both here, safe and sound. He shut his eyes, drawing a deep breath of the familiar dusty air, tension slipping from his shoulders. He leaned further into Crowley’s side and let his head come to rest on Crowley’s shoulder.

Aziraphale sighed, not opening his eyes, content to remain where he was. “It’s finally over, isn’t it.”

Soft fingers brushing through his hair, making him smile. “It’s all behind us now, angel.”

“All for the best. Not the most pleasant experience, being kidnapped.”

Crowley let out a soft hum in answer.

Aziraphale hesitated, before adding, “Even if there was a dashing hero that came to the rescue.”

Crowley made a choked sound. “Dashing?”

“Well yes.” Aziraphale opened his eyes. “Though I suppose that would make me the swooning damsel, which isn’t quite so appealing.” Crowley made another choked sound. “Really dear.” Aziraphale sat up, only to find Crowley had taken great interest in the opposite bookshelf. “After everything–” the words tasted like ash on his tongue and, for a moment, he wasn’t present. He was still back there, locked in that cell– Gentle hands disentangled the tight grip he had on his trousers.

He sucked in a breath. “Crowley?”

“It was over, angel.” The soft reminder startled tears out of him all over again.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, and– and good riddance to all of it.” He hiccupped. Crowley only held his hands tighter. “I still don’t think I could have done it without you.”

“We’ll call that even as well then.” Crowley offered him a smile. “Our side has to look after each other, right? And I still owe you a mountain of cake.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at that. “I don’t think it has to be a _mountain’s_ worth. But I do appreciate the sentiment. And everything else you’ve done, even if I–”

“Angel,” the soft admonishment made him pause. “You already said sorry, remember? And you let me keep your jacket, too.”

“Well, yes that was the minimal respectable thing to do. And just because I said it once doesn’t mean I shouldn’t apologize again. I was beastly to you! And I certainly know you care for me”–Crowley made a choked sound–“so it’s not exactly fair I– Crowley?”

Crowley stared at him, yellow eyes wide. “I what?”

“You…” Aziraphale blinked, “you haven’t exactly kept it a secret, my dear.”

“Oh.” Crowley’s gaze remained fixed on him.

Neither of them spoke.

Aziraphale blinked again, growing more confused. “Crowley? Are you alright dear?”

Crowley’s shoulders did a funny little jump. “Jussst peachy.” Then he straightened. “Would you want that too? Peach pie? For the picnic.” And any other time, Aziraphale might have been distracted had Crowley not reached up and tried to adjust his sunglasses.

His fingers found nothing but air. Crowley twitched, clearly uncomfortable, but forced his hand back down. Oh, Aziraphale realized. Crowley had forgotten his sunglasses weren’t present. Aziraphale wondered where they had gone. If they had even been called when he’d summoned the demon.

Maybe they were lying here, somewhere in the shop, tucked away safely, before the activated summoning circle had whisked Crowley away.

From past experience, pointing out their absence would only put Crowley in a grumpier mood. That he’d reached for them also meant something one of them said had upset him. Aziraphale swallowed hard. Maybe it would best to just move the topic along.

He cleared his throat. “Crowley, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to get the– the runes sorted out as soon as possible. Worrying side effects and all that.”

Crowley’s expression became alarmed. “Are they getting worse? How do you feel?” His hand reached out, coming to rest against Aziraphale’s forehead. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he should lean into the touch. “You’re a bit warm, angel. How’s the headache?”

“Really Crowley, there’s no need for concern,” Aziraphale tried to assure. “I’m–Well, it’s not too noticeable. You’re right about the elevated temperature. Fatigue.” He grimaced. “Though that may be because of how trying a day it’s been.”

“Right, of course.” Crowley wasn’t listening.

Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley? Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Am I– Bloody–” Crowley made a disgruntled sound. “We need to get you sorted out, runes first and…” Now Crowley was the one grimacing. “And we’ll worry about the rest of what that bastard said later.”

Aziraphale went still for a long moment, eyes adverted. “Oh.” Nervously, he twisted his fingers together. “You… recall what he…” He had foolishly hoped…

Crowley made a pained sound. “I don’t want to go sticking my demonic fingers in wounds that are already raw, angel.”

He stole a look at Crowley’s worried expression. “But?”

“But,” Crowley echoed, “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Understandable. I’d want the same thing if our situations were reversed– Oh my lor– Not that I would ever wish such a thing! I didn’t–”

“Hey, hey.” Crowley reached out, taking his hands. “It’s alright, angel. I know.”

“Truly?”

A gentle squeeze of his hands and a croaked smile that assured Aziraphale more than anything. “Course.”

Aziraphale let a slow breath, shifting his grip so that he could hold Crowley’s hands too. “I not sure, that is–”

But Crowley shook his head. “Runes first. They’re hurting you, angel. We have to deal with that first.” He reached out, resting a hand against Aziraphale’s. “Then we’ll talk. Alright?”

Aziraphale drew a breath, then nodded. “Alright.”

“Good.” Crowley shifted, eyes focusing briefly on Aziraphale’s neck, before he hesitated. “Do I… just wipe it off?”

Aziraphale blinked, frowned, before saying less than confidently, “I’m not sure.”

“Not sure? Angel!”

Aziraphale huffed. “I was in a bit of a rush when I suggested that combination to you. I haven’t exactly had time to consider how to dismantle them properly.”

Crowley shifted, uncomfortable. “So wiping them all off could end up with you… what? Going up like a lightbulb stuck in a socket with too much current?”

The idea of bits of exploded angel all over the place made both of them grimace.

“Well,” Aziraphale said slowly, “I suppose… the possibility is there.”

“Is there a safer way of defusing the runes?” Crowley’s expression was hopeful.

It only made Aziraphale hesitate more. He reached around Crowley for a loose-leaf sheet of paper, tugging it out of its place between two large tomes. He looked about for a fountain pen, only to find Crowley holding one out to him.

“Thank you, dear boy.” He drew out the three runes with practiced ease and took several minutes to study it. When he alighted upon an answer, he held the paper out for Crowley to see. “This and this,” he pointed to the right most and middle runes, “they deal with banishment of power. They’re the ones… cutting off the electricity, if I am continuing to be the metaphorical lightbulb. This one, however,” his hand shifted, pointing to the first rune, “that deals with me being bound to this human container.” Crowley nodded. “Given that, I would say the middle one should go first, since it deals with suppression, followed by its neighbour, which is rebuffing the power I draw on, and finally the rune that’s on the far left that deals with containing me in this form. Go in that order, and it should hopefully reduce the shock to my being. At the very least, the left rune being erased last will make certain the banishment of power doesn’t slingshot me back Upstairs.”

“Got it,” said Crowley, “middle, right and then the left one last. Ready angel?”

“One moment.” Aziraphale hesitated, before pushing himself to keep speaking. “If something… that is, incase things don’t go as expected, I… I want you to look after yourself first, alright?” He saw the flash of rebellious mulishness that came to Crowley’s expression. “I mean it, Crowley. After I– after what happened at that cottage– I don’t–” His voice wavered, breaking.

Crowley touched his arm. “It’s alright, angel. We already destroyed that stupid glowing leechy spell, remember? Nothing is going to happen.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, not wanting to argue, but– “Well, that maybe true, but the possibility of being kicked back Upstairs isn’t appealing, nor if that comes about from an overload, and if my body discorporates, I can’t imagine how much holy power that might unleash–”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley sighed. “Come here.”

He gave the serpent a wary look, but shifted closer. Crowley drew his wing in to bring Aziraphale the rest of the way and let his forehead come to rest against Aziraphale’s own.

Crowley’s voice was quiet as he spoke again. “Angel, do you trust me to get us both through this in one piece?”

“This isn’t a question of–”

“Ah ah! Yes or no, angel.”

“Well yes, obviously.”

Crowley grinned and Aziraphale realized he’d already known his answer. The fiend. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile as well.

Crowley coughed, eyes darting away as he drew back. “Right. We’re both going to get through this just fine, trust me, angel.” He rubbed his hands together. “Shall we get started then?”

Aziraphale sighed, “Very well.” He turned, leaning forward to further expose the runes. “But if my shop explodes, I shan’t be happy.” He paused, waiting, but when Crowley made no move, he cleared his throat. “I’m ready, dear.”

“Right then.”

He felt the brush of Crowley’s cool fingers against his skin, before there was a set of three distinct swipes across his neck and then all the missing layers of reality slammed into Aziraphale. It was an overwhelming mash of sound and senses, all of it too vivid and too loud.

He didn’t even realize he’d toppled until he heard Crowley’s shout.

He blinked his eyes, finding himself flat on his back on the carpeted floor. “Oh.” Crowley was leaning over him, expression panicked. “Oh dear.” That only seemed to upset Crowley more. Aziraphale blinked, trying to focus. He reached out, patting the demon’s arm. “I’m alright, dear. Still here and all. Just… a little overwhelmed.” He shut his eyes. “Just need to readjust.”

Crowley sat back, uttering a swear under his breath. “Least ssshocking to your system my arse! That’sss the lassst time I’m ssswallowing that line angel!”

Aziraphale left him be. He could feel his shop again. The way it should be. The layers of love each well-worn book exuded, rolling over him like waves, a familiar sensation he was more than willing to drift in.

He sighed, resting a moment longer. Then he tried to sit up. He swayed until Crowley caught him. “Oh dear,” Aziraphale sighed, refraining from shaking his head. It was probably only making the spinning worse. “Perhaps a little more overwhelmed than I thought. Nothing serious though.”

He lifted a hand, but hesitated about touching his head. The headache was back. That would likely upset Crowley as well. Aziraphale drew a breath, and instead snapped his fingers. The surge of power jumped from his control and the tea set that appeared did so several inches above the floor. It fell with a loud clatter.

Aziraphale huffed. Just a little off indeed. He turned to Crowley. “Tea?”

He was hoping for a distraction, for a chance– Only Crowley’s flat expression dashed all his hopes. That was not the type of expression that would allow delay for the conversation they needed to have. Aziraphale swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Eyes downcast, Aziraphale waited for the inevitable question to come.

But Crowley remained silent.

Finally, he couldn’t stand the silence any longer. There was no turning back now and avoidance wasn’t an option. He cleared his throat. “Are you not going to ask about what he said?”

There was another long pause, where Crowley studied his expression. “Do you want me to ask, angel?”

Aziraphale gave a shaky laugh. “Not at all.” Grabbing up a teacup, he shifted his position on the floor, sitting straighter. “But I don’t… think this is something I can ignore.”

Crowley nodded. “Then, should I start?” He waited and Aziraphale gave a nod of agreement. “Right. Angel, I’m worried about what Dante–” Aziraphale flinched, teacup nearly falling from his hands.

Crowley went still and the expression on his face made Aziraphale want to bury his face in his hands. “Dash it all.”

“Aziraphale?”

“It shouldn’t bother me.” Aziraphale swallowed hard, finally looking up from his teacup. “What he said.” He found himself turning the teacup absently around in his hands. “I know what I am. I don’t have to answer to anyone, not anymore.” He hesitated, hands stilling. “I don’t think he even realized what I was.” A laugh bubbled up inside him, even though it wasn’t funny. “Strange, that a man steeped in occult magic can readily accept the existence of demons, but not once considers what kind of feathers he’s plucking.” He drew a shaky breath. “Isn’t that strange?”

Crowley drew a slow breath, eyes never leaving him. “Humans only ever see what they want to. It’s how reality works, angel.”

“Even so, I wish…” He trailered out, uncertain how to finish his sentence. In the end he simply shook his head. Crowley reached out, placing a comforting hand over his own. Aziraphale gave a weak smile in answer. “Crowley?”

Crowley made a sound to show he was listening.

“If… say I, did something I shouldn’t have been able to do. Would you…?”

Crowley’s expression tried to give nothing away, but there was worry in his eyes. “I’d still be right here, angel.”

“Thank you, dear, that’s very…” His eyes turned away, staring at the cup in his hands. “But hypotheticals aren’t really… that is… How do I put this?” He looked up, expression desperate, “Crowley, what really is the difference between an angel and a demon?” 

Frozen silence followed his question.

Crowley struggled to find his voice. “Angel, why are you asking me that?”

Aziraphale’s hands clenched around the teacup, fingers white. “I know it shouldn’t bother me. I mean, what does it change– and I–” His voice wavered, tears filling his vision. He tried to scrub them away, feeling foolish and hypocritical all at once. What right did he have to be upset over this? “I’m sorry.”

Crowley’s hand tightened over his own, the weight of it grounding. It only made Aziraphale’s tears fall faster. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that didn’t block out Crowley’s voice. “Angel, Aziraphale, talk to me, please?”

Aziraphale drew a shuddering breath. He opened his eyes and finally spoke, “When they captured me, I used power from Hell.”

Crowley reared back, eyes blown yellow. “What?” The word came out as a breath, strangled and horrified.

Aziraphale couldn’t meet his gaze. He drew his hands away, twisting around the teacup over and over again. An ugly feeling building in his chest, one Aziraphale didn’t want to name. Angels. Demons. What difference did it make?

“There was a book. At the estate sale that I– that I went to before– before Dante–” He gestured at the air, indicating everything that had happened. “Turned out the book was bait for a trap. Dante… wanted to increase his occult powers.”

“And the power from Hell?”

“His cultists tried to bind me, using the book, and I was desperate. I don’t– when I reached for a miracle– for a way to stop them– I found I was cut off from Heaven, but… I just kept reaching for– for something, _anything_ to answer… and then your former side did.” He swallowed hard, voice quiet, “They answered me.” He hesitantly looked at Crowley and tried to shrug, but his container was too tensed up. It looked more like a spasm. “I… I don’t know who was more shocked, really.”

Crowley was staring at him, mouth hanging open. Aziraphale found it hard to meet his gaze.

He let his eyes drop to his teacup, to his chipped nails, to anything that wasn’t in line with Crowley’s eyes. Aziraphale drew a shuddering breath. “The power I drew manifested as fire. I… I just wanted them to back off. But then the book burned and– and the fire, I don’t know what happened, it just, it went out of control _and–_ it just– it became–” he couldn’t say it.

Crowley covered his hands, voice steady. “And it became hellfire.”

He could only nod, eyes stinging with fresh tears. “I was lucky, it almost burned me at one point.” He grimaced. “I don’t think I’ve ever thrown something away so fast.” When he saw Crowley’s increasing alarm, he hastened to add, “I’m alright, dear. That, at least, didn’t hurt me, soon as I let go, it just fizzled out… though I had nothing left afterward…” He shuddered, swallowing hard, “Dante… wasn’t pleased. He thought I was a demon, at least, until they found out the monastery and… holy water didn’t have any effect on me.”

Crowley hissed. “That bloody bastard.”

“He’s been dealt with dear.” But Crowley’s expression continued to remain dark, Aziraphale sighed. “I’m perfectly aware there’s no clause in his contract preventing you from pestering him further. I, however, consider the matter closed.” He sniffed, trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking.

“And the hellfire?”

“I… don’t know.”

Crowley let out a hum. “Do you think you could call it again?”

“No!” Aziraphale swallowed hard. “I– I couldn’t possible– angels aren’t supposed to be able to produce hellfire or– or call on any form of power from down _there_. It’s–it’s not done.” His hands tightened. “I mean, if I– Crowley, what would that even mean for me? I couldn’t just–” He shuddered, eyes jumping away. “I’m not brave, not like you, Crowley.”

“Aziraphale, look at me.” Hesitating, he met Crowley’s gaze. “You _are_ brave, angel. Ah, ah, look at me.” This time, Aziraphale found it much more difficult to meet the demon’s eyes. Crowley smiled at him. “I mean it, angel.”

He huffed, not sure what to do with himself, murmuring, “Flatterer.”

“Doesn’t change the truth. You’ve faced Heaven, Hell and _cultists_ now, angel, and you’ve shown them all up. With style, I might add.”

“And was terrified through the whole ordeal.”

“Yeah, but does that negate the rest of it?”

Aziraphale floundered. “Well… that’s…”

Crowley didn’t let him continue. “You still did all of that and I, for one, think that does makes you brave.” He leaned in. “And nothing is going to change my opinion of you, not even hellfire.”

Aziraphale blinked hard, not quite able to speak or stop the tears that were building back up in his eyes again.

Crowley’s expression was earnest. “Okay?”

Aziraphale nodded, setting his teacup aside. “Okay.” He smiled, more grateful than he could put into words.

Crowley cleared his throat, leaning back. “And for my two cents, you burned an occult book, right?” Aziraphale nodded. “Wouldn’t be surprised if a little demonic power hadn’t rubbed off on it, and that’s all the boost your flames needed to become hellfire.” He glanced at Aziraphale. “Power from Hell alone isn’t enough, angel.”

“Thank you, dear, that is very kind of you to say.” With a wave of his hand, Aziraphale called a handkerchief into being. The cloth blew up to double the size of what he wanted though. Oh well. He still used it to dab at his face. “I’m not inclined to mess with such things though. So, this will be the end of it.” When he was done, he carefully folded the handkerchief back up only to end up pulling nervously at it with his fingers.

Crowley stared at him. “Will you be alright with that? I don’t mean to be cruel, angel, but the last thing either of us wants is this gnawing at you.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer right away. He frowned, mulling it over and Crowley waited with that infinite patience Aziraphale had always admired so much. It gave him a chance to think, to sort through all his thoughts. Once he knew his mind, only then did he draw a breath, and finally address the issue head on. “I’m quite sure. Maybe the way they were binding me lent me toward grabbing power at the next available source. Sort of like my self-summoning.”

Crowley hummed. “I can see how that works, you reached for power, skipped over Heaven and where your summoning called up your feathers instead, you got power from Hell. Same principal really, just less on purpose.”

Aziraphale nodded his head. “Perhaps.” Then he sighed. “Regardless, I’m disinclined toward experimenting. Messing around could end quite badly. Especially if one of our former sides takes notice.”

“Definitely not good.” Crowley shuddered. “Though it’s something to keep in mind, I mean, could be handy. Another trick if someone comes knocking.”

“I prefer ‘tricks’ that don’t involve being cooked if they fail.”

“Point,” Crowley agreed and then kept talking, “but failure does seem to have a way of bouncing off us, I mean… there’s been other things we thought would end badly…” A thoughtful expression came to his face, “and we’ve managed to scrape through just fine. I mean, the apocalypse ended all right. Can’t complain about that.”

Aziraphale gave him a deadpan look.

Crowley’s shoulders bunched up. “What? Everything’s still here!”

“Thanks to Adam, I should point out.”

Crowley nodded. “Like I said, all worked out.”

Aziraphale sighed. “And need I remind you about that time in Ireland? With the _Saint?_”

Crowley sputtered. “Well, at least it didn’t end like that time with the grapeshot!”

“How was I supposed to know you were talking about cannonballs?” Cheeks red, Aziraphale crossed his arms. “That whole situation was ridiculous and _your_ fault.”

Crowley had the gall to laugh. “Yeah, nothing quite like running for our hides from both the navy _and _privateers at the same time, is there?”

Aziraphale huffed. There was a feeling of warm affection filling his chest though. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Aww. Admit it, you think I’m charming.”

Aziraphale refrained from rolling his eyes, even if he was sorely tempted. “With all the mischief you get up to, I would settle for a quiet century now and then.”

“Would you now?”

Aziraphale was surprised by the genuine interest in Crowley’s voice. “Well, I mean, it would be nice to… um…” he trailed out.

“What angel?” Gold eyes peered at him.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Visions of a little cottage out in the country danced in his head, but he couldn’t say it. “It’s nothing.” Aziraphale looked away.

“Riiiiiight,” Crowley sounded wholly unconvinced.

“Really, Crowley, it’s nothing. I’m sure you’ve already come up with plenty of ideas to fill this century.”

“Oh, come on, angel. You’re just going to leave me hanging in suspense here?” Crowley poked him. “Honestly, what’cha come up with?”

“Never you mind.” Aziraphale swatted his hand away. “Come up with your own honest answer.”

“Confessing my undying love to you would be– Ngk!” Crowley’s eyes went wide as he tried to back pedal. “I mean– that’s not–”

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. “You–” He floundered, astonished. Crowley stared at him like Aziraphale was about run him over with the Bentley. That… Crowley hadn’t been joking. Aziraphale’s breath caught. “Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say after–” Crowley swore, twisting about, before facing him again. “Angel, I thought you said you realized I cared about you!”

Aziraphale straighten. “Of course I did, being cut off… I only just realized how deeply your feelings permeated everything. It’s…” He felt a little mystified. “But you love me?”

Crowley covered his face. “Bloody– I didn’t want you finding out like this!” And something that sounded suspiciously like, “It was supposed to be _romantic_.”

Dread crept over Aziraphale as he realized what he’d done again. The order he’d accidently given Crowley. His stomach dropped. “You’re not just saying that because of… the summoning spell, are you?”

Crowley made a sound of frustration. “WHAT! No! I’m not saying it because of the bloody–ngk! Look, I’ve been– can’t you take a bloody hint!” The demon’s cheeks were heating up to a merry pink.

“Oh well.” Aziraphale reached out, tugging on his white jacket that Crowley was still wearing. His fingers tangled in the cloth as he drew Crowley closer. “In that case…” Their faces were only inches apart now.

Crowley swallowed hard, eyes jumping to his lips, hesitating. Aziraphale lingered there, taking in the sight of the demon’s sweet face. He wondered about kissing him, before Aziraphale broke one of the lines drawn in blood.

The summoning holding Crowley there ended with a loud pop, and he vanished from the shop. The finished spell would safely return him back from whence he’d been summoned, Aziraphale mused. Apparently that location hadn’t been the bookshop.

Humming to himself, Aziraphale shook his jacket out, blessing it back into proper shape. This time the miracle didn’t go overboard, and he gave a pleased smile.

Aziraphale was just rising to his feet when there was a whoosh and thud outside the shop.

The door slammed open a second later. “Aziraphale you bloody bastard!”

“Crowley!” He turned a bright smile on the demon. “How good of you drop by!”

Crowley sputtered, expression shifting through too many expressions to count.

Aziraphale set his jacket aside on the sofa. “Now then.” He crossed the distance to the demon and stood up on his toes.

Crowley went still, not pulling away, but watching him carefully with sharp yellow eyes. “Angel?”

He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “You’re outside my influence as a summon now.” He drew back. “I… I wanted to be sure… given well…” He drew a deep breath. “Crowley, what you said earlier, was that true?” He looked up, hopeful.

Crowley’s throat visibly bobbed. Their eyes met and Crowley said in the softest voice that Aziraphale had ever heard, “Angel, you’re the kindest being I know, even when you’re being a devious bastard. I adore you and… yes, I love you.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath. He felt like he was floating. Crowley cared for him. _Loved him. _The feeling in his chest was bright and big, going beyond his capacity to put into words. It almost sang in his being.

Aziraphale reached out, not quite sure what he was doing as he took Crowley’s hands. Such things had to be done right, even if he wasn’t quite sure how to fumble his way through a confession. But maybe, just this once, he could be just a little brave too.

“I love you as well, Crowley dear.” Aziraphale beamed and maybe they were both crying a little now.

Crowley produced a handkerchief from somewhere, a proper sized one, and gave it to him. Aziraphale dabbed at his face, still smiling, as Crowley began to fuss over him. It was nice.

He shook the handkerchief clean before reaching up to brush away the tears Crowley had been suborning pretending weren’t on his own face. “It’s alright, dear.”

Crowley huffed, pretending to roll his eyes, and Aziraphale allowed his dear demon to shew him over the nearby sofa and produce a blanket for him. Even with the sweater Crowley had miracled earlier that evening, there was still a chill he hadn’t quite shaken from his human shaped container. But right now, Crowley was doing an excellent job of chasing that feeling away and…

Aziraphale hesitated, before he held the blanket open and patted the spot beside him. “Come sit down with me, dear.”

Crowley stumbled over several half-aborted sounds.

“Please?” Aziraphale asked, eyes big and soft.

Crowley sat. When the blanket settled over them, it had also acquired Aziraphale’s favourite tartan pattern. Crowley took one look, huffing, before tugging the blanket closer. They were almost pressed shoulder to shoulder on the sofa and neither of them knew quite where to look.

Aziraphale hesitated. “Is this… is this alright?”

“Yea- YES!” Crowley exclaimed and then cringed. “I mean, are you okay with this… angel?”

“Of– of course!” They both blushed, stealing glances at each other like beings not even a quarter their age.

Underneath the blanket, their hands were almost touching too. Aziraphale swallowed hard. He shifted his hand, only to feel Crowley’s move to brush against his own. Aziraphale jumped, startled.

Crowley went still. “Too fast?”

“No! I–” Aziraphale bit his lip. “I just… what happens now, Crowley?”

Crowley shifted, humming softly in thought. “Now?” He shrugged his shoulders. “We sit here, maybe drink some coca, and read some of your books.” He looked at Aziraphale and this time, there was no hesitation in his gaze. “It’s whatever you want, angel, however fast you want.”

Aziraphale stared back, feeling out his thoughts. “That, that sounds lovely, dear.” He shifted closer so that he was brushing lightly against Crowley. “Perhaps later still, when we’re up for it, we can go have that picnic you suggested. Only, perhaps, it could be a– a date?”

Crowley grinned. “We’ll pick out the best spot in St. James Park. I’ll pack the basket–”

“And I’ll provide the blanket this time, and maybe some pillows to sit on.”

“And afterward, we can feed the ducks, just the two of us. It’ll be perfect, angel, you’ll see.”

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, dear. However the day plays out, I’m certain it’ll be wonderful and we’ll both have a grand time.”

“Of course, angel. I promise you that.”

“And so do I.”

They were both smiling, enjoying the presence of this moment. And this time, when Aziraphale reached out, his hand touched Crowley’s and their fingers tangled together. Crowley almost seem to glow at the contact, and it was a look Aziraphale realized he wanted to see again and again.

Here, safe and sound in the bookshop, Aziraphale felt certain that in the future ahead of them, there would not just be one picnic but many. A life carved out of everything they loved and the two of them, an angel and a demon facing together whatever else the world tried to throw at them.

It would be the two of them together, standing side by side no matter what.

Aziraphale was certain, regardless of how much time went by, no matter how long his feathers took to grow back in, or whether his very dear wily demon paid a certain cultist leader another visit or not, that the two of them would always have each other’s backs.

But those were thoughts for the future, because for right now, they would focus on resting, recovering and likely reading aloud from one of the books Aziraphale knew Crowley secretly liked. Said demon had already tugged a book loose from a shelf, peering at the first page as he leaned toward him and Aziraphale took full advantage of their entwined hands to tug him gently down to rest against his shoulder. Crowley went still, giving him a careful look, and Aziraphale smiled, nodding back.

This was perfect.

They were together and for Aziraphale and for Crowley that, to them, meant all the world.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! The long awaited ending for Invoke. And I fully admit I couldn’t resist writing these two lovey dovey dorks being cute together. Especially after the ringer I put them through.
> 
> I admit I also got a lot more milage out of the summoning rules then I initially planed for. Having the commands biting Crowley in the butt was a given, and then the rules taking a turn to bite Dante was a delightful twist I initially hadn’t planned for. Crowley accidentally confessing his feelings to Aziraphale was (of course) an early planned end goal.
> 
> Before settling on using the summoning rules I’d been debating how to write the confrontation with Dante. A really early draft of the scene actually had that part mushed in with the previous scene in chapter 2 with the car outside the monastery. That draft had Aziraphale waking up alone in the rusty car, and then using said car to barrel into the solo confrontation Crowley had going with Dante. This sadly, reduced the amount of screen time Dante ended up having, and ended up being a bit anticlimactic, so the above version was created, which gives a much better sense of Dante’s creepy character and what he was all about. 
> 
> I initially started this piece as an entry for the 2019 Halloween Wump-tober challenge and was curious to see how many of the word prompts for the month I could work in. Turns out quite a few of them! It also gave me a chance to try out an interesting writing experiment to see what effect not using Aziraphale’s name much would do to the narrative. Despite being the prospective character of this piece, in the first chapter, Aziraphale’s name only appears 66 times, which, in comparison, Crowley’s name is used 162 times in chapter 1. The numbers of uses for Aziraphale’s name interestingly, also increases as the narration continued and also as Aziraphale becomes aware of what was going on around him.
> 
> Currently I’m just surprised how out of control the word count got for what was supposed to be a short entry. Ha! Turns out I had quite a story I wanted to tell.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed! I really appreciate all the kudos and comments everyone leaves! They really helped me finish this piece. So thank you again and take care out there!


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